BEF  0'  DE  WAH 


Echoes 


ID 


DiaJecj? 


¥A-C-Gordon 
Thomas  Nelson 


SO*. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


BEFO'   DE  WAR 

ECHOES  IN  NEGRO  DIALECT 


BEFO'   DE    WAR 


ECHOES  IN  NEGRO  DIALECT 


A.  C.  GORDON 

AND 

THOMAS  NELSON  PAGE 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1906 


COPYRIGHT,  1888,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


tow  DOICCTOOY 

I.1W  YOKK 


PS 


6-fciTf  k 


THE  MEMORY  OF 

IRWIN    RUSSELL 

WHO  AWOKE  THE 
FIRST  ECHO 


CONTENTS. 


Thomas  Nelson  Page. 

UNCLE  GABE'S  WHITE  FOLKS,      .           .          ,, 

rAGR 

.  •    I 

So 

LITTLE  JACK,           ..... 

.     Ill 

MARSE  PHIL,            ..... 

.    117 

ONE  MOURNER, 

.   127 

A.  C.  Gordon. 
^NIGGER  Twis',         ..... 

6 

KYARLINA  JIM,        ..... 
A  DE  OLE  'OMAN  AN'  ME,     .... 
v  OLE  LAUGHIN',                    .           .           .           . 

10 

.     13 

21 

EBO,  .            .           .           .           .           . 

•        25 

DEPARTED  LUCK,     ..... 

•        30 

KREE,           

•      34 

vi  CONTENTS, 

PACK 

MINE  OYSTER,         .  .  .  .  •  3s 

POKE  o'  MOONSHINE,          .  .  .  .  .43 

THE  LAMENT  OF  ORPHEUS,  .  .  .  .48 

V  LOFTY  AND  LOWLY,  .  .  .  .  •      53 

GOD  KNOWS,  ......      56 

VIRGINIA  CREEPERS,  .  .  .  .  .60 

BEFORE  THE  PARTY,  .  .  •  .  .63 

AT  WHITEHALL,      .  *  *  «  •  .67 

MARS'  RODNEY'S  HAT,  .  .  *  .      7° 

ANANIAS,      .  .  .  .  .  .  75 

DEAD,  .  .  .  ...  -79 

FESTINA  LENTE,      ......      83 

JUCKS 86 

ICHABOD,         .......        94 

SIMEON,  F'OM  GEORGY,  .  .  .  .  .98 

DISAPPOINTMENT,     .  .  .  .  .  .102 

To  You,  .  .  .  .  .  .105 

SWEET  HOME,          .  .  ,  .  »  .     108 

HOME  AGAIN,          .  .  .  .  .  .123 


UNCLE   GABE'S  WHITE   FOLKS. 

SARVENT,  Marster  !     Yes,  sah,  dat's  me — 

Ole  Unc*  Gabe's  my  name  ; 
I  thankee,  Marster,  I'm  'bout,  yo'  see. 

"An*  de  ole  'ooman?"    She's  much  de  same , 
Po'ly  an*  'plainin',  thank  de  Lord  ! 
But  de  Marster's  gvvine  ter  come  back  from  'broad. 

"  Fine  ole  place  ?  "    Yes,  sah,  'tis  so  ; 

An'  mighty  fine  people  my  white  folks  war — 
But  you  ought  ter  'a'  seen  it  years  ago, 

When  de  Marster  an'  de  Mistis  lived  up  dyah  ; 
When  de  niggers  'd  stan'  all  roun'  de  do', 

Like  grains  o'  corn  on  de  cornhouse  flo'. 
i 


2  UNCLE    G ABE'S    WHITE  FOLKS. 

"  Live  mons'ous  high  ? "     Yes,  Marster,  yes  ; 

Cut'n"  onroyal  *n*  gordly  dash  ; 
Eat  an*  drink  till  you  couldn'  res'. 

My  folks  war'n'  none  o'  yo'  po'- white-trash  ; 
Nor,  sah,  dey  was  ob  high  degree — 
Dis  heah  nigger  am  quality  ! 

"  Tell  you  'bout  'em  ?"     You  mus'  'a'  hearn 

'Bout  my  ole  white  folks,  sho' ! 
I  tell  you,  suh,  dey  was  gre't  an'  stern  ; 
D'  didn'  have  nuttin'  at  all  to  learn  ; 

D*  knowed  all  dar  was  to  know  ; 
Gol'  ober  de'  head  an'  onder  dey  feet ; 
An'  silber !  dey  sowed  't  like  folks  sows  wheat. 

"  Use  ter  be  rich  ? "     Dat  warn'  de  wud ! 

Jes'  wallowed  an'  roll'  in  wealf. 
Why,  none  o'  my  white  folks  ever  stir'd 

Ter  lif  a  han'  for  d'self  ; 


UNCLE    CASE'S  WHITE  FOLKS. 

De  niggers  use  ter  be  stan'in'  roun' 

Jes'  d'  same  ez  leaves  when  dey  fus'  fall  down  ; 

De  stable-stalls  up  heah  at  home 

Looked  like  teef  in  a  fine-toof  comb  ; 

De  cattle  was  p'digious — mus'  tell  de  fac' ! 

An'  de  hogs  mecked  de  hill-sides  look  like  black  ; 

An*  de  flocks  ob  sheep  was  so  gre't  an'  white 

Dey  'peared  like  clouds  on  a  moonshine  night. 

An'  when  my  ole  Mistis  use'  ter  walk — 

Jcs'  ter  her  kerridge  (dat  was  fur 

Ez  ever  she  walked) — I  tell  you,  sir, 
.rou  could  almos1  heah  her  silk  dress  talk  ; 
Hit  use'  ter  soun'  like  de  mornin'  breeze, 
When  it  wakes  an'  rustles  de  Gre't  House  trees, 
An'  de  Marster's  face  ! — de  Marster's  face, 

Whenever  de  Marster  got  right  pleased — 
Well,  I  'clar'  ter  Gord,  'twould  shine  wid  grace 

De  same  ez  his  countenance  had  been  greased. 
De  cellar,  too,  had  de  bes'  ob  wine, 


4  UNCLE    G ABE'S    WHITE  FOLKS. 

An'  brandy,  an*  sperrits  dat  yof  could  fine  ; 
An'  ev'ything  in  dyah  was  stored, 
'Skusin'  de  Glory  of  de  Lord  ! 

"  Warn'  dyah  a  son  ?  "     Yes,  sah,  you  knows 

He's  de  young  Marster  now  ; 
But  we  heah  dat  dey  tooken  he  very  clo'es 

Ter  pay  what  ole  Marster  owe  ; 
He's  done  been  gone  ten  year,  I  s'pose. 
But  he's  comin'  back  some  day,  of  co'se  ; 
An'  my  ole  'ooman  is  aluz  pyard, 

An'  meckin'  de  Blue-Room  baid  ; 
An'  ev'ry  day  dem  sheets  is  ayard, 

An'  will  be  till  she's  daid  ; 
An'  de  styars  she'll  scour, 

An'  dat  room  she'll  ten', 

Ev'y  blessed  day  dat  de  Lord  do  sen' ! 

What  say,  Marster  ?    Yo'  say,  you  knows — ? 
He's  young  an'  slender-like  an*  fyah  ; 


UNCLE   G ABE'S    WHITE  FOLKS. 

Better-lookin'  'n  you,  of  co'se  ! 

Hi !  you's  he  ?    'Fo'  Gord,  'tis  him  ! 

Tis  de  very  voice  an'  eyes  an'  hyah, 
An'  mouf  an'  smile,  on'y  yo'  ain'  so  slim— 
I  wonder  whah — whah's  de  ole  'ooman  ? 
Now  let  my  soul 

Depart  in  peace, 
For  I  behol' 
Dy  glory,  Lord  ! — I  knovved  you,  chile — 

I  knowed  you  soon's  I  see'd  your  face ! 
Whar  has  you  been  dis  blessed  while  ? 

Done  come  back  an'  buy  de  place  ? 

Oh,  bless  de  Lord  for  all  his  grace  ! 
De  ravins  shell  hunger,  an'  shell  not  lack 
De  Marster,  de  young  Marster's  done  come  back  ! 


NIGGER-TWIS'. 

RIGHT  hard  work  while  it  lasts — dat's  so — 

Worruming  'backer  all  day  long  ; 
Miz'ry  gits  in  yer  back,  you  know, 

Speshly  dem  what  ain't  so  strong. 
Dat's  my  fix.     But  it  seems  ter  me 

Ise  paid  fur  it  all  when  it  comes  ter  dis  : 
My  long-stem  pipe,  little  Jake  on  my  knee, 

An'  my  pocket  chock  full  o'  nigger-twis'. 

"Corn-cob  ?"     Yes,  sir.     It  ain't  so  fine 
As  dat  "hogany-colored  one  o'  yourn  ; 

But  I  gits  as  much  out  o'  dis  o'  mine 
As  de  fines'  one  you  ever  did  own. 


NIGGER-TWIS". 

De  juice  all  dries  in  de  cob,  you  see — 
Dat's  de  philos'phy  o'  pipes  like  dis  ; 

An*  a  reed-root  stem  is  de  stem  fur  me, 
An'  de  sweetes'  'backer  is  nigger-twis'. 


Dem  dar's  cur'us  things,  sho'  'nuf — 

Dem  little  splinters  what  lights  jes'  so  ; 
Hit  dey  heads  whar  de  box  are  rough 

A  sort  o'  hard — an*  away  dey  go  ! 
I  never  liked  'em.     It  seems  ter  me 

De  devil's  in  'em  some  way.    An'  dis 
Is  jes'  as  good  an'  as  true,  you  see — 

A  red-hot  coal  on  de  nigger-twis*. 

"Wouldn1  I  like  a  cigar?"  you  say. 

No,  sir,  I  thank  you.     Ise  tried  dem  dar— 
Diff'rent,  sir,  as  de  night  from  day  ; 

Fur  apart  as  a  cuss  an*  pra'r  ; 


N1GGER-TWIS*. 

Hasn't  no  strength,  it  seems  ter  me : 
Can't  begin  to  compar'  wid  dis  ; 

Nothin'  onder  de  sun  can  be 

Sweet  as  a  cob  an*  some  nigger-twis'. 


No— dat  nuther  !     Well,  I'll  declar' ! 

Dat  is  de  beatenes'  Ise  seed  yet ! 
What  is  de  name  dat  you  call  dat  "ar  ? 

Say  it  again,  please  ?     "  Cigarette  ?" 
Little  Jake,  what  sets  on  my  knee, 

'Ud  turn  up  his  nose  at  a  thing  like  dis  ; 
Tse  gwine  ter  teach  him  ter  do  like  me, 

An*  suck  de  comfort  from  nigger-twis'. 

Yes,  dat's  a  fac' !     Tis  a  lux'ry,  sho', 

'Backer  is,  whatever  you  say. 
Seems  like  I  never  wants  nothin'  mo', 

'Ceptin'  ter  set  down  here  dis  way, 


NIGGER-TWIS1. 

Take  little  Jake  up  on  my  knee, 
Have  me  a  corn-cob  pipe  like  dis, 

Wid  a  stem  as  long  as  from  you  ter  me, 
An'  a  pocket  chock  full  o*  nigger-twis'. 


KYARLINA  JIM. 

(Fisherman's  Hut,  Chesapeake  Bay,  1876.) 

WHEN  you  was  here,  some  sixteen  year 

Or  so  aback,  you  says, 
A  darkey  named  Kyarlina  Jim 

He  fished  f'om  dis  here  place  ? 

Dat  yonder's  him — Kyarlina  Jim — 
On  de  bench  dar  by  de  do*  ; 

He  have  been  ole  an'  weak  an'  bline 
Sence  dat  long  time  ago. 

Yes,  dat's  de  way  he  spen's  each  day 
O"  de  blessed  year,  'dout  fail ; 

Wid  face  turned  out'ards  to'ds  de  Bay, 
Like  watchin'  fur  a  sail. 


KYARLINA   JIM.  II 

Eben  when  clouds  'ull  come  in  crowds, 

An'  beatin'  win's  'ull  blow, 
He  still  keeps  settin'  pashunt  dar 

In  his  ole  place  by  de  do'. 

An'  de  sweet  sunlight,  'tis  jes'  like  night 

Ter  po'  Kyarlina  Jim  ; 
He's  weak  an'  bline,  an'  rain  an'  shine 

Is  all  de  same  ter  him. 

Dat  chile  you  see  dar  on  his  knee, 

She  never  fails  ter  come, 
About  dis  time  o'  ev'ry  day, 

Ter  fetch  Kyarlina  home. 

I  seldom  cries  ;  but  when  my  eyes 

Lights  on  de  chile  an'  Jim, 
Dar's  sumpin*  sort  o'  makes  me  feel 

Kind  ter  his  gal  an'  him. 


12  KYARLINA   JIM. 

Another  chile  he  los',  long  while 
Ago,  Ise  heerd  him  say, 

Is  out  dar  waitin'  in  a  boat, 
On  de  blue  waves  o'  de  Bay. 

I  'spec's,  beca'se  o'  what  he  says, 
Dat  chile  he  los'  'ull  come 

'Fo'  long,  jes'  like  dis  here  one  does, 
An'  fetch  Kyarlina  home. 


"DE  OLE  'OMAN  AN'  ME." 

WE  doesn't  live  as  onst  we  did  : 
De  grub's  done  struck  a  change  ; 

An'  when  I  mentions  ash-cake  now, 
My  wife  she  thinks  it  strange. 

She's  got  sot-up  dese  las'  few  years, 
An'  wheat-bread's  all  de  go  ; 

But,  somehow,  seems  I'd  like  ter  tas'e 
Some  ask-cake-pone  onst  mo'. 

De  buttermilk  has  done  give  way 

Ter  tea  an'  coffee  now  ; 
"An*  possum-fat,"  she  always  says, 

"  Is  low-flung  grub,  nohow ! " 


14  "DE    OLE  'OMAN  AN'   ME* 

She  doesn'  ever  foot  it  now, 

Like  how  she  used  ter  do  ; 
But  drives  my  yaller  mule  ter  town, 

An*  wushes  he  was  two  ! 

She  hasn*  had  a  homespun  coat 

For  many  a  long  day, 
But  w'ars  de  fines'  sort  o'  clo'es, 

Made  jes'  de  white  folks'  way. 

She  doesn'  call  me  "  Ichabod," 
Or  "  Ich,"  or  "  Ole  Fool,"  now  ; 

An'  ef  I  mentioned  "  Anniky," 
'T  'ud  sartin  raise  a  row. 

Tis  "Mister  Brown  "  an'  "Mistis  Brown," 

Ontwel  it  seems  ter  me 
We's  done  gone  changed  our  nat'rel  selves 

F'om  what  we  used  ter  be. 


"DE    OLE  'OMAN  AN*   ME."  1 5 

I  know,  beca'se  as  how  Ise  tried 

An'  never  seed  it  gee, 
It's  awful  hard  ter  teach  new  tricks 

Ter  ole  dogs  sich  as  me. 

Dat  broad-clof  coat  she  made  me  buy, 

It  don't  feel  half  so  good 
As  dat  ole  jeans  I  used  ter  w'ar 

A-cuttin'  Marster's  wood. 

An*  beefsteak  ain't  for  sich  as  me, 

Instid  o'  possum-fat ; 
An'  "  Mister  Brown  "  ain't  "  Ichabod  "— 

I  can't  git  over  dat ! 

So  Mistis  Brown  may  go  ter  town, 

A  drivin'  o'  dat  mule, 
Jes'  when  she  likes  ;  but,  sartin  sho', 

/  ain't  gwi'  play  de  fool ! 


1 6  "DE   OLE  'OMAN  AN*    ME." 

An'  as  fur  her  insistin'  how 
Dat  I  should  try  ter  learn 

Dem  A  B  C's  de  chillun  reads — 
Tis  no  consarn  o*  her'n. 

I  doesn'  keer  what  grub  she  eats, 
Or  what  she  calls  herself, 

Or  ef  she  has  a  bofy  now 
'Stid  o'  a  cubbud-shelf  ; 

I  doesn'  keer  how  fine  her  clo'es, 
May  be,  or  what's  de  style — 

I'm  able  fur  ter  pay  fur  dat, 
An'  has  been  so  some  while. 

Dar's  only  one  o'  all  her  ways 
Gits  over  me  fur  sho' — 

I  p'int'ly  hones  fur  possum-fat 
An'  ash-cake-pone  onst  mo* 


ZEKYL'S   INFIDELITY. 

MISTIS,  I  r'al'y  wish  you'd  hole 

A  little  conversation 
Wid  my  old  Zekyl  'bout  his  soul. 

Dat  nigger's  sitiwation 
Is  mons'us  serious,  'deed  'n'  'tis, 
'Skusin'  he  change  dat  co'se  o'  his. 

Dat  evil  sinner's  sot  he  face 

Gin  ev'y  wud  I  know  ; 
Br'er  Gabrul  say,  he's  fell  from  grace, 

An'  Hell  is  got  him  sho'. 

He  don'  believe  in  sperits, 
'Skusin'  'tis  out  a  jug ! 

2 


1 8  ZEKYUS  INFIDELITY. 

Say  'tain'  got  no  mo'  merits 
Den  a  ole  half-cured  lug  ; 
'N'  dat  white  cat  I  see  right  late, 
One  evelin'  nigh  de  grave-yard  gate, 
Warn'  nuttin'  sep  some  ole  cat  whar 
Wuz  sot  on  suppin'  off  old  hyah. 

He  'oont  allow  a  rooster, 

By  crowin'  in  folks'  do', 
Kin  bring  death  dyah  ;  and  useter 

Say,  he  wish  mine  would  crow. 
An'  he  even  say,  a  hin  mout  try, 
Sep  women-folks  would  git  so  spry, 
An'  want  to  stick  deeselves  up  den, 
An'  try  to  crow  over  de  men. 

Say  'tain'  no  good  in  preachin' ; 

Dat  niggers  is  sich  fools — 
Don'  know  no  mo'  'bout  teachin* 

'N  white  folks  does  'bout  mules  : 


ZEKYL'S  INFIDELITY.  19 

An'  when  br'er  Gabrul's  hollered  tell 
You  mos'  kin  see  right  into  Hell, 
An*  rambled  Scriptures  fit  to  bus', 
Dat  hard-mouf  nigger's  wus  an'  wus. 

Say  quality  (dis  is  mainer 

'N  all  Ise  told  you  yit) — 
Says  'tain'  no  better  'n  'arf-strainer  ; 

An'  dat  his  master'll  git 

Good  place  in  Heaven — po'  white  folks,  mark  !— 
As  y'all  whar  come  right  out  de  ark  ; 
An*  dat — now  jes'  heah  dis  ! — dat  he, 
A  po'-white-folks'  nigger's  good  as  me  ! 

He's  gvvine  straight  to  de  deble  ! 

An'  sarve  him  jes'  right,  too  ! 
He's  a  outdacious  rebel, 

Alter  all  Ise  done  do  I — 
Ise  sweat  an'  arguified  an'  blowed 

Over  dat  black  nigger  mo' 


2O  ZEKYDS  INFIDELITY. 

'N  would  'a'  teck  a  c'nal-boat  load 
Over  to  Canyan  sho' ! 

Ise  tried  refection — 'twarn'  no  whar ! 
Ise  wrastled  wid  de  Lord  in  pra'r  ; 
Ise  qu oiled  tell  I  wuz  mos'  daid ; 
Ise  th'owed  de  spider  at  his  haid — 
But  he  ole  haid  'twuz  so  thick  th'oo 
Hit  bus'  my  skillit  spang  in  two. 

You  kin  dye  black  hyah  an'  meek  it  light ; 
You  kin  tu'n  de  Ethiope's  spots  to  white  ; 
You  mout  grow  two  or  three  cubits  bigger — 
But  you  carn't  onchange  a  po'-white-folks'  nigger. 
When  you's  dwellin'  on  golden  harps  an'  chunes, 
A  po'-white-folks'  nigger's  thinkin'  'bout  coons  ; 
An'  when  you's  snifflin'  de  heaven'y  blossoms, 
A  po'-white-folks'  nigger's  studyin'  'bout  possums. 


OLE  LAUGHIN'. 

WHEN  I  was  a  boy  in  Ferginyer, 
At  de  plantation  down  on  de  Jeems, 

Years  aback  'fo'  de  war  kirn,  an'  freedom—- 
What a  long  time  ago  it  all  seems! — 

My  Marster  he  owned  an  ole  nigger 
Dat  de  white  folks,  beca'se  o'  his  mouf, 

Never  called  nothin'  'ceptin*  "  Ole  Laughin',' 
Down  dar  in  de  Souf. 

He  had  de  mos'  cur'uses'  notions 

'Bout  jokin'  an"  havin'  o*  fun  ; 
An'  dar  wasn't  no  stoppin'  dat  darkey, 

Ef  ever  he  onst  had  begun. 


22  OLE  LAUGHIN'. 

Ise  seed  him  like  bustin'  his  weskit 
A-laughin'  at  things  dat  most  folk— 

Spite  o'  whatever  funny  he  foun'  dar — 
Never  'sidered  a  joke. 

^ 

He  would  laugh  when  his  chillun  was  cryin', 

He  would  laugh  when  de  cryin'  was  done  ; 
Seems  like  evvything  struck  him  ridic'l'us 

Dat  de  Lord  has  made  onder  de  sun  ; 
An*  whatever  frolic  dar  happened 

'Mongst  de  darkeys,  ef  Laughin'  warn't  dar 
Things  mos'ly  went  on  purty  solemn — 

For  dey  missed  him,  I  'clar*. 

Ise  seed  folk  whose  laughin'  was  hurtin1, 
Seemin'  like  it  was  scornful  some  way  ; 

But  his'n  warn't  dat  sort  o'  music — 
As  diff'rent  as  night-time  f'om  day. 


OLE  LAUGHJN\  2$ 

When  he  opened  dem  jaw-bones  o'  his'n 

An'  let  it  all  out  in  one  ro', 
Evvybody  what  heerd  him  laughed  wid  him 

An'  wanted  some  mo'. 


Laughin'  seemed  ter  take  life  sort  o'  cur'uss 

For  I  never  did  know  him  ter  cry  ; 
But  sometimes  Ise  noticed  a  misty 

Sort  o'  sorrowful  look  in  his  eye. 
Ole  Marster  he  said  :  "  A  philos'pher 

Ole  Laughin'  is,  sartin  an'  sho'  ; 
He  looks  on  de  bright  side  o'  all  things, 

An'  who  can  do  mo'  ? " 

When  Marster  got  sick,  an'  deceasded, 
An'  de  coffin  sot  dar  on  de  groun 

By  de  grave,  all  de  plantation  darkeys 
Kim  weepin'  an'  moanin'  aroun' ; 


24  OLE  LAUGHIN\ 

An'  Laughin'  was  dar,  but  de  devil, 

In  spite  o'  de  grief  in  his  face, 
Seemed  ter  have  a  grip  on  him  as  usual, 

Eben  dar  at  dat  place — 

For  when,  arter  de  words,  "  Dus*  ter  ashes  ! " 

De  Preacher  stood  silent  in  pra'r, 
Ole  Laughin'  he  'rupted  de  silence 

Wid  his  reg'lar  music,  I  'clar ' ! 
But  he  didn'  live  long  arter  Marster, 

An'  he  died  wid  a  smile  on  his  mouf : 
Dey  bofe  on  'em  sleeps  in  Ferginyer, 

Down  dar  in  de  Souf. 


EBO. 

ALL  o'  dese  here  doin's 

Don't  suit  me  ; 
Ise  an  ole-time  nigger — 

Don't  you  see  ? 

Dis  here  eddication's 

Humbug,  sho'  ; 
It's  done  played  de  devil 

Wid  Ebo. 

Somewhar  'bout  lars'  summer, 

Dicey  she 
Tuk  'n'  struck  a  notion — 

Don't  you  see  ? 


26  EBO. 

Says  she  :  "  Ise  been  thinkin'." 

An'  I  says  : 
"  What^K  done  thunk,  honey  ?' 

Says  she  :  "Yes, 

"  Ise  been  thinkin'  mons'ous 

'Bout  Ebo  ; 
He's  fo'teen  year  ole  now — 

Don't  you  know  ?  " 

S'l  :  "  Ole  'oman,  you  is 

Right,  I  'spec'  ; 
Bar's  fo'teen — he  kim  fus' — 

Dat's  kerrec' ! " 

Says  she  :  "  He's  a-growin* 

Up  a  fool ; 
An'  Ise  gwine  ter  sen1  him 

Ter  de  school." 


EBO.  27 

Bein's  how  it  looked  like 

She  was  bent 
On  de  projick,  Ebo 

Tuk  'n'  went. 

An'  sence  dat  lars'  summer— 

Don't  you  see  ? — 
Dat  'ar  boy  have  p'int'ly 

Outdone  me ! 

Whe-ew !  de  norrations, 

Dem  o'  his'n  ! 
Umph  !  I  'busses  laughin' 

Jes'  ter  lissen ! 

What  you  think  dat  Ebo 
Come  tell  me  ? 

Dat  all  dis  here  y'arth  here- 
Flat,  you  see — 


28  EBO. 


Dat  it's  roun',  an'  rolls  jes* 

Like  a  ball ! 
"  Ebo,  dat's  a  lie,"  I 

Says,  "  dat's  all ! 

"  Don't  you  see  yer  Mammy, 

Ewy  night, 
Set  de  water-piggin 

Out  o'  sight 

"  Ob  you  chillun,  up  dar 

On  de  shelf  ?— 
Now,  Mars'  Spellin'-booker, 

'Splain  yerself — 

"  Sunrise,  dat  'ar  water's 

In  dar  still ; 
Ef  de  y'arth  turned  over, 

It  'ud  spill ! " 


EB  O.  29 

But  he  keeps  resistin* 

It  are  so — 
Eddication's  done  gone 

Sp'ilt  Ebo. 

He's  forever  tellin' 

Some  sich  lie ; 
He's  gwi'  fine  out  better 

By-um-by. 

Ef  Ebo  keeps  1'arnin' 

At  dat  school, 
Nex'  thing,  he'll  be  provin' 

Ise  a  fool  ! 

I  are  p'int'ly  gwine  ter 

Take  Ebo 
Way  f'om  dat  ar  school-'ouse, 

Sartin  sho* ! 


DEPARTED   LUCK. 

JOHN,  put  one   mo'  stick   on   de   harf.     Jes*  one  ? 

Well,  lay  it  on  ; 
An'   den   we'll  freeze   afo'   we   starve,    beca'se   de 

bread's  all  gone. 
My  trem'lin'  lira's  won't  hole  out  long  ;  an'  what's 

de  use  ter  pray  ? 
Lord,  pity  dese  po'  niggers  who  has  gin  dere  luck 

away ! 

You's  been  too  sick  ter  do  a  bit  o*  work  sence  dat 

'ar  time 
I  started  down  ter  Denny's  store,  an*  foun'  dat  silber 

dime 


DEPARTED  LUCK.  3* 

Jes'  in  de  turnin'  o'  de  road  ;  an',  like  a  fool  dat  day, 
Instid  o'  keepin'  it,  I  tuk  an'  gin  my  luck  away. 

John,  don't  you  'member,  long  ago,  when  little  Bill 

was  born, 
We  worked  down  at  de  Edgeworth  place,  amongst 

ole  Marster's  corn  ? 
De  eatin's  dat  we  used  ter  have,  an*  not  a  cent  ter 

pay— 
Dat  time  when  we  was  never  'feard  ter  give  our 

luck  away  ? 

A  little  while  aback,  when  you  was  layin'  moanin' 

dar, 
I  kep'  a-thinkin'  o'  dem  days,  an*  tried  ter  turn  ter 

pra'r ; 
But,  somehow,  ewy  bit  o'  pra'r  dis  w'ared-out  mouf 

could  say 
Was,  "  Lord,  for  dat  'ar  time,  afo'  I  gin  my  luck 

away ! " 


32  DEPARTED  LUCK. 

An'  den  it  seemed  like,  sho'  enuf,  it  had  come  back 

onst  mo' — 
Seemed  like  I    seed   Miss  Ellen  dar,  a-standin'  in 

de  do', 
Jes'  like  as  how  she  used  ter  come  each  Chris'mus, 

wid  a  tray 
O'  Chris'mus  things,  long,  long  afo'  I  gin  my  luck 

away. 


Seemed  like  I  heerd  de  music  dat  de  white  folks 

always  had 
Up  at  de  Gre't  House,  Chris'mus-time,  when  evvy 

soul  was  glad  ; 
Seemed  like  a  gre't  big  fyer  burned  here  on  de  harf, 

some  way  ; 
I  thought  we  never  had  been  po',  an'  gin  our  luck 

away. 


DEPARTED  LUCK.  33 

An'  you  was  settin'  over  dar,  an'  Bill  was  on  de  flo', 
A  playin'  like  he  used  ter  play  in  dat  long  time 

ago; 
But  den  de  cole  gript  on  me,  an'  de  dream  it  wud- 

den  stay  : 
We're  weak  an'  starvin',  John,  beca'se  I  gin  my  luck 

away. 

But  take  it  easy,  John  !     I  know  we  never  is  gwi' 

see 
Sich  days  as  dem  ag'in  ;  'fo'  long  dey'll  bury  you 

an'  me. 
Bread  gone,  de  little  stick  burnt  out  ;  de  embers 

gittin'  gray — 
Lord,  fetch  us  whar  we  never  mo'  can  give  our 

luck  away  ! 


KREE. 

MY  boy  Kree  ? 
He  played  wid  you  when  you  was  a  chile  ? 

You  an'  he 

Growed  up  tergether  ?    Wait !    Lemme  see  ! 
Closer !  so  I  can  look  in  yer  face  ! — 

Mars'  George's  smile  ! 

Lord  love  you,  Marster  ! 
Dar  'neaf  dat  cypress  is  whar  Kree  lays. 

Sunburnt  an'  grown  ! 

Mars'  George,  I  shudden  ha'  knowed  you,  son, 
'Count  o'  de  beard  dat  yer  face  has  on, 
But  for  dat  ole-time  smile  o'  your'n — 


KREE.  35 

"  An*  Kree  ?  "  you  say. 
Hadn't  you  heerd,  Marster, 
He  'ceasded  de  year  dat  you  went  away  ? 

Kree  an'  you  ! 

How  de  ole  times  conies  back  onst  mo' — 
Moonlight  fishin's,  an'  hyars  in  de  sno'; 

Squirrels  an'  jaybirds  up  overhead, 
In  de  oak-trees  dat  de  sun  shined  through  ! — 

Look  at  me,  Marster ! 
Here  is  me  livin'  ;  an'  Kree,  he's  dead. 

'Pears  ter  me  strange 

Now,  when  I  thinks  on  'em,  dose  ole  years: 
Mars'  George,  sometimes  de  b'ilin*  tears 

Fills  up  my  eyes, 
'Count  o'  de  mizery  now,  an'  de  change — 

De  sun  dims,  Marster, 
Ter  an  ole  man,  when  his  one  boy  dies. 


)  KREE. 

Did  you  say  "  How  ? " 
Out  in  de  dug-out,  one  moonshine  night, 

Fishin'  wid  your  baby  brother — he 
Wid  de  curls  o'  yaller,  like  streaks  o'  light, 
An'  de  dancin'  big  blue  eyes.     Dead,  now- 
Kree  died  for  him  ; 
An'  yearnin'  for  Kree, 
De  Lord  tuk  him,  Marster  : 
De  green  grass  kivers  'em  bofe  f  om  sight. 


Heerd  o'  de  tale  ? 

Didn'  know  Kree  was  de  one  dat  drowned 
Savin'  Mars'  Charley  ?    Well,  'twere  he. 
De  boy  waxed  weaker,  his  face  mo'  pale, 
Arter  de  corpse  o'  poor  Kree  were  found. 

Two  months  later  he  went,  you  see : 
God  bless  you,  Marster  ! 
Nine  years  has  rolled  over  bofe  onder  ground. 


A'REE.  37 

Worn  out  an*  gray, 
Here  I  sets  waitin',  Mars'  George,  alone. 

All  on  'em's  gone — 
Marster  an'  Mistis,  an'  Charley  an'  he. 
You  an'  me  only  is  lef.     Some  day, 
When  you's  gone  back  ter  yer  ship  on  de  sea, 

I'll  hear  him  say, 
Jes'  as  he  used  ter,  a-fishin',  ter  me : 

"  Daddy,  come  over !  "     An'  passin'  away, 
Dat  side  de  river,  again  I'll  be 

Wid  my  boy  Kree. 


"MINE  OYSTER." 

No,  it  never  did  agree  wid  de  likes  o*  dis  here  nig- 
ger, 
For  de  a'r  is  sort  o'  stiflin'  twix'  dese  mountains, 

Eas'  an'  Wes' ; 
Evvy  blessed  year  I  lives  here,  seems  dese  hills  is 

growin'  bigger 

Ter  de  miz'ry  in  my  knee-j'ints  an'  de  trouble  in 
my  ches'. 

Ise  a  Tuckahoe  Ferginyan  f'om  Tide-water  of  Fen 

ginyer, 

Whar  de  oshters  am  delishus  an'  de  fish  is  hard  ter 
beat ; 


"MINE    OYSTER."  39 

Lord,  I  hasn'  seed  an  oshter,  in  de  time  dat  I  has 

been  here, 

Dat  dis  nigger  have  cornsidered  fittin'  any  ways 
ter  eat 


Dey  fetches  'em  in  cans  up,  dese  here  railroad  sojer- 

fellows, 
An'  it  takes  a  good  day's  workin'  ter  perkure  an 

oshter-stew. 
Dese  ain't  nothin'  but  runt-oshters  ;  yet  de  reste- 

ranters  tell  us 

Dat  dey  come  fom  Mobjack  Bay,  sir.     Pshaw ! 
I  know  dat  can't  be  true  ! 

I  lived  down  dar  myself  onst,  an'  I  think  I  Tarnt  de 

fashion 

O'  dem  oshters  in  dat  water— shape,  an'  size,  an' 
ta'se,  an1  all ; 


40  "MINE    OYSTER." 

Dis  here  darkey  may  be  ign'ant,  an'  widout  no  ed- 

dication, 

But  a  Mobjack  oshter  p'int'ly  is  beknownst  ter 
Uncle  Saul. 


You  may  brag  o*  roasted  possum  an'  de  glories  o* 

hog-killin', 
You  can  'numerate  de  hom'ny,  you  can  shout  de 

ole  ash-cake  ; 
But  one  dish  o'  Mobjack  oshters,  an'  ole    Saul  is 

p'int'ly  willin' 

Ter  denounce  de  other  eatin's  for  de  Mobjack 
oshters'  sake ! 

Umph !  dis  mouf  o'  mine  jes'  waters  at  de  thought 

o'  dem  dar  critters — 

Fried,  an'  baked,  an'  stewed,  an'  raw  ones — how 
we  'stroyed  'em  down  dar  ; 


"MINE    OYSTER."  41 

Soft  as  mush,  an'  f  arly  better  dan  merlasses  on  yer 

fritters — 

But  de  glory  am  departed,  an'  dem  oshters  ain't 
nowhar ! 

I    have    trabbled  through    Ferginyer    sence  Mars' 

Linkum  sont  de  freedom  ; 
I  have  cotch  'em,  an'  I've  eat  'em,  Norf  an'  Souf 

an'  Eas'  an'  Wes'. 
Oh,  dey's  prime  at  Glorster  P'int  ;   dar  it's  mighty 

hard  ter  beat  'em  ; 

But  de  oshters  fo'm  ole  Mobjack  am  de  sugares' 
an'  bes'. 

It  is  seben  year,  an'  ober,  sence  I  'zided  in  dat  sec- 
tion, 

An'  I'm  'feared  dis  hilly  Valley  'ull  lay  on  me  when 
I  die ; 


42  "MINE   OYSTEK." 

But  I  holds  de  ole  Tide-water  in  my  warmes'  ree- 

collection, 

An'  I'd  like  ter  slip  down  dar  onst  mo'  an'  make 
dem  oshters  fly. 

I  would  like  ter  eat  dem  oshters  'twel  I  perish  jes' 

f'om  eatin' ; 
Dat's  de  kind  o'  death  dat  seems  like  it  'ud  suit 

yer  Uncle  Saul. 
Ves,  I'd  ruther  go  dat  way,  sir,  dan  ter  drap  down 

dead  in  meetin' ; 

Fur  ter  die   f'om  eatin'  oshters   is  de   sweetes' 
death  o'  alL 


POKE   O'   MOONSHINE. 

MOONSHINE  ?     Yes,  sir, 
Right  smart  ahead  ; 

Ten  mile,  at  bes',  sir. 

Git  down  an'  res',  sir, 

Outen  de  rain. 
Onder  dat  shed 

Is  a  good  place  ter  tie  him, 

Or  Joe  can  stan*  by  him 
'Twel  you's  ready  ter  set  out  again. 

"  Know  Poke  o'  Moonshine  ? 
Yes,  sir,  I  does. 

Marster,  you  won't  fine 
Many  o'  his  kine 


44  POKE    O'   MOONSHINE. 

'Roun'  dis  here  way!  — 
Much  as  he  was 

Sence  I  remember ; 

Ole  John's  December 
Is  haler  dan  mos'  folkses'  May. 

Moonshine  ?     Played  out ! 

When  dey  was  rich, 

'Twas  widout  doubt 
De  fines'  about — 
Pictur's  an'  things, 

Flowers  an'  sich — 

All  sorts  o'  doin's  : 
Now  it's  in  ruins — 

But  dat's  what  war  gen'ully  brings. 

Moonshine  'bout  den 
'Longed  ter  Mars'  Sidney. 
All  o'  de  men 
O'  dat  family's  been 


POKE   0>  MOONSHINE.  45 

Purty  good  grit — 
Folks  o'  fine  kidney  ; 

So,  when  de  war  kim, 

Nothin'  could  bender  him 
But  what  he  mus'  go  inter  it. 

John  Poke,  o'  co'se, 
Went  in  dar,  too  ; 

Mis'  Agnes  stays 

Home,  jes'  beca'se 

Wimen  can't  b'ar 
What  men  goes  through — 

Lovely  an*  young  she  were, 

When  Mars'  Sid  went  fom  her 
Ter  be  shot  in  dat  turrible  war. 

Home  kim  John  Poke 
Wid  de  lad  dead  : 

"  In  all  de  smoke 

An'  de  fightin'  he  spoke 


POKE   O'  MOONSHINE. 

Ter  me  only,"  says  he, 

"  An'  here's  what  he  said  : 

'John,  take  good  keer  o'  her—- 
Guard de  welfare  o'  her — 

Ef  death  cornes  betwix'  her  an"  me.'  " 

All  dese  here  years 
John  Poke  have  been 

True  ter  dem  tears. 

Moonshine  affairs 

Mars'  Sid'  lef  bad  ; 
John's  been  a  frien' — 

So  he  has  keered  fur  her, 

What  he's  had,  spared  fur  her, 
All  fur  de  sake  o'  dat  lad. 

Dat's  a  fine  boss ! 
Lead  him  out,  Joe  ! 

Rain's  over,  boss ; 
Not  much  time  los* 


POKE    O'   MOONSHINE.  47 

Stoppin'  wid  me—- 
Gently, dar !  whoa ! 

Marster,  in  passin'  by 
On  yer  way  back,  sir,  I 
Hope  you'll  tell  me  how  John  Poke  may  be, 

Switch,  sir  ?     I  says 
You'll  hardly  fine 

Sich,  nowadays  ; 

'Speshly  dey's  skase 

'Roun'  dis  here  way, 
Men  o'  his  kine. 

I'm  de  man  orter  know 

Better  dan  mos'  folks,  sho'. 
My  daddy,  sir  ?    Yes,  sir.     Good-day ! 


THE   LAMENT  OF  ORPHEUS. 

"  BEEN  travellin'  ?"     Don't  you  see  I  is  ? 

"  Whar  ter,"  hey  ?     Ole  Green  Su'phur  : 
I  tried  it  for  my  rheumatiz, 

An*  never  knowed  it  rougher. 
I  used  ter  go  dar  long  ago, 

When  I  was  young  an'  healthy  : 
It  ain't  like  what  it  was,  you  know, 

When  Souvern  folks  was  wealthy. 

Well,  yes  ;  I  s'pose  as  many  now 

Goes  dar,  as  used  ter  go  dar : 
But  seems  like  it  have  changed  somehow — 

Sersi'ty's  gittin1  low  dar. 


THE  LAMENT  OF   ORPHEUS.  49 

Ise  knovved  de  time  de  F.  F.  V.'s 

An'  none  else  run  it,  honey  : 
But  things  is  changed  ;  an'  so,  you  sees, 

All  goes  dat's  got  de  money. 


When  Marster  sot  out  ewy  June, 

Sometime  about  de  middle, 
I  always  went  ;  an'  many  a  chune 

Ise  played  dar  on  dis  fiddle  : 
But  fiddlin'  now  is  done  gone  out, 

An'  brass  ban's  is  de  fashion, 
An'  Garmins  ;  not  a  night  widout 

De  Garmin  like  de  nation  ! 


You  never  seen  de  Garmin,  hey  ? 

You  orter  seen  it,  honey  ; 
Jes'  take  an'  go  down  dar,  some  day ; 

It's  p'int'ly  wuth  de  money. 
4 


5O  THE  LAMENT  OF   ORPHEUS. 

You  never  seed  a  monkey-show 
Could  ever  stan'  a-showin* 

Ter  one  o'  dem  things  all  ago, 
Wid  all  de  ban'  a-blowin'. 


You  knows  de  ole  Ferginyer  Reel, 

Whar  two  goes  down  de  middle  ? 
I  never  think  o't  'daut  I  feel 

A  hankerin'  fur  dis  fiddle. 
Dat  was  a  dance  an  F.  F.  V. 

Mought  well  be  proud  ter  dance  in  ; 
But  dis  here  Garmin — I  can't  see 

How  white  folks  Stan's  sich  prancin' ! 

"  How  does  dey  dance  de  Garmin  ? "     Well, 

De  ban'  it  'gins  ter  sizzle  ; 
An'  den,  befo'  you's  time  ter  tell, 

A  fellow  blows  a  whistle  ; 


THE  LAMENT  OF   ORPHEUS.  5 1 

An'  den  de  ladies  an'  de  men 

Dey  takes  an'  grabs  each  other, 
An'  spins  an'  whirls  an'  spins  agen — 

An'  never  lets  go,  nuther ! 


I  know  de  white  folks  knows  a  heap, 

An'  Ise  jes*  an  ole  nigger 
Wid  brains  'bout  big  enough  ter  keep 

F'om  gittin'  hurt — no  bigger  ; 
But,  somehow,  it  do  look  ter  me 

Like  things  had  got  alarmin', 
Ter  see  an  ole-time  F.  F.  V. 

A-dancin'  dis  new  Garmin. 


Well,  sence  my  trip  down  dar  I  feel 
Like  hangin'  up  de  fiddle. 

Dey's  done  forsook  de  fine  ole  reel, 
Whar  two  goes  down  de  middle  ; 


$2  THE  LAMENT  OF   ORPHEUS. 

An'  ole-time  folks  an'  ole-time  chunes 
Is  woted  mighty  slow  dar — 

For  monkey  ban's  an'  whistlin*  loons 
Has  run  sersi'ty  low  dar  ! 


LOFTY  AND   LOWLY. 

DE  white  man's  got  de  'vantage 
O'  de  cullud  pusson,  sartin  : 

You's  done  been  free 

Longer  dan  me — 

An*  dat's  one  thing  in  startin'. 

You  never  worked  terbarker, 
But  tuk  it  out  at  college  ; 

I  never  looks 

Inter  de  books — 
You  has  me  on  sich  knowledge. 

I  ain't  got  no  high  notions, 
Let  'lone  de  eddication  : 


54  LOF7Y  AND  LOWLY. 

Nor  money  'twel 
You  can't  stan'  still — 
As  much  as  all  creation  ! 


My  wife  don't  play  de  panny, 
Nor  drive  brash  hosses,  nuther ; 

Nor  w'ar  fine  clo'es, 

Like  she  o'  your's — 
Mine's  some  below  dat,  ruther ! 

But  lissen  at  me,  Marster  : 

I  knows  all  dese  things  fits  you  ; 

O'  co'se,  you  ought 

Ter  have  dis  sort — 

But  dar's  one  place  I  gits  you  : 

I  don't  have  harf  de  worry 

What  troubles  your  life,  honey  ; 


LOFTY  AND  LOWLY.  55 

De  bank,  you  see, 
Mought  bus*  for  me — 
/  wudden  lose  no  money  ! 

Ef  all  your  books  an'  pictur's 
Was  somehow  ter  git  'stroyed, 

Marster,  I  know 

Dat,  sartin  sho', 
You'd  mourn  for  what  you's  'joyed. 

You  never  is  contented  : 

You  wants  yer  big  pile  bigger  ; 

Ain't  I  kerrec', 

Den,  when  I  'spec' 
You's  outdone  by  a  nigger  ? 


"GOD   KNOWS." 

TELL  you  a  tale,  eh  ?    Bless  de  chillun  ! 

It's  been  sich  a  very  long  time  ago 
Dat  I  don't  know  whether  I  ain't  forgotten 

All  o'  dem  tales  dat  I  used  ter  know. 
Your  daddy  was  always  axin'  fur  'em, 

When  he  was  a  chap,  jes'  like  you  two. 
Ise  tole  him  lots  ;  but  I  disremember — 

It's  been  so  long — all  de  bes'  I  knew. 

'Twas  a  wile  March  mont',  an1  de  win'  was  blowin* — 

Blowin'  great  guns,  de  sailors  say ; 
De  water  was  foamin',  an'  all  de  riggin' 

Wropt  ter  de  mas's,  in  de  Chessypeake  Bay. 


"GOD  KNOWS."  57 

A  wreck  tuk  place  not  fur  fom  Norfolk — 
A  sloop  f'om  Boston,  an'  all  ban's  drowned  ; 

Four  men  an*  a  chile  an'  a  yaller-hyared  'oman, 
Dese  was  de  corpses  de  sho'-folk  found. 

'Twas  close  ter  de  Ian*  whar  de  vessel  stranded, 
But  de  waves  was  runnin'  so  orful  high 

It  was  boun'  ter  come — dar  was  no  help  fur  it- 
All  o*  dem  people  was  marked  ter  die. 

One  o'  de  papers  drifted  inwards, 

What  'longed  ter  de  sloop  ;  an'  dar  on  it 

De  name  o'  de  men  an*  de  long-hyared  'oman 
Dat  kirn  f'om  Boston  was  plainly  writ. 

Three  o'  de  men  was  de  Cap'en's  sailors, 

De  Cap'en's  self  was  de  tother  one  ; 
An'  we  jedged  his  wife  was  de  white-faced  'oman, 

But  de  name  o'  de  little  chile  was  gone. 


58  "GOD  KNOWS." 

De  Kurriner — him  what  sets  on  bodies — 

He  copied  inter  his  book  all  dose  ; 
Den  he  axed  me  :  "  How  shell  I  write  dis  baby  ? " 

An'  I  answered  de  Kurriner  :  "  Sir,  God  knows ! 


So  when  dey  kim  fur  ter  bury  de  bodies 

Of  de  Boston  men  by  de  Chessypeake  Bay, 
Dey  put  up  a  head-mark  over  each  on  'em, 

Wid  his  name  an'  his  death  an'  his  drownin'-day. 
An'  de  yaller-hyared  'oman  was  buried  wid  'em, 

An'  her  name  an*  her  death  an'  her  day  was  writ 
On  de  head-board  plain  ;  but  dat  one  over 

De  chile — dar  was  nothin'  ter  put  on  it 

But  one  what  sot  on  de  Kurriner's  jury— 
A  gray-head  man  wid  a  kinely  eye — 

Sez  :  "  Let  it  alone,  an'  I'll  ten'  ter  it, 
An'  write  a  name  on  it  by  an'  by." 


"GOD  KNOWS."  59 

Bar's  a  marble  sharf  not  fur  f'om  Norfolk, 
By  de  Bay  down  dar  ;  an'  whoever  goes 

Up  de  Shipwreck  Road  kin  read  de  writin' 
Dat's  writ  up  over  dat  chile  :  "  God  knows ! " 


VIRGINIA  CREEPERS. 

(1868.) 

OLE  Mistis  offen  afo'  she  died — 

You  know  how  she  used  ter  set 
Out  dar  on  de  Gre't  House  porch,  o'  days  ; 

I  thinks  I  sees  her  yet — 
Offen  she  said  :  "  You's  good  enough — 

But  Anniky's  pizen  mean  ; 
An'  dem  chillun  o'  her'n  an'  yourn's  de  scruff 

O*  de  y'arth  !  "     Now,  y'all  done  seen 
How  what  she  tole  me  is  done  come  true  : 
I  always  knowed  it,  and  said  so,  too. 

What  is  dat  sass  you's  up  ter,  now  ? 
What  does  you  want  ter  know  ? 


VIRGINIA   CREEPERS.  6 1 

Ef  you  says  one  word  'gin  ole  Mistis,  boy, 

I'll  smack  you,  sartin  sho' ! 
"  How  come  she  go  call  you  scruff  ? "    Jes  dis  : 

Y'all  was  de  lazies'  crew 
Dat  de  Lord  ever  made,  in  doin'  de  work 

Dat  she  wanted  you  ter  do  ; 
"  Ferginyer  Creepers !  "  she  used  ter  say, 
When  she  seen  you  a-pokin'  along  all  day. 

An'  now  sence  de  freedom  come,  it's  wus' 

Dan  ever  it  was  afo' ; 
You  stretches  out  dar  in  de  sun,  an'  sleeps 

An'  sleeps  foreber  mo'. 
Ef  you's  got  a  rag  ter  yer  back,  somehow 

You  thinks  dat  dat's  enough. 
An',  boy,  dat's  de  reason  o'  how  come  why 

Ole  Mistis  called  you  scruff. 
You  lets  me  slave  fur  de  grub  you  eat  ; 
You  sleeps,  while  I  gethers  de  bread  an'  meat. 


62  VIRGINIA    CREEPERS. 

I'm  gittin'  w'ared  out  wid  dis  here  thing 

O'  t'ilin'  fur  all  o'  you  ; 
Sometimes  I  wishes  de  ole  slave  ways 

Was  back  fur  a  week  or  two. 
"  How  come  ?  "    Jes  dis  :  ter  make  you  work  ! 

De  niggers  never  did  lay 
Out  on  a  bench  in  de  sunshine  den, 

An*  sun  deyselves  all  day. 
"  Ferginyer  Creepers  "  was  bad,  at  fus* ; 
"  Ferginyer  Sleepers  "  is  p'int'ly  wus'  I 


BEFORE   THE    PARTY. 

YES,  honey,  you  p'int'ly  is  purty  ; 

How  long  'fo'  de  ball  gwi'  begin  ? 
"  Some  time  yet  ?  "    An*  when  you's  all  dancin', 

Can't  yer  ole  Mammy  come  an'  peep  in  ? 

Dat  white  silk,  it  sho'ly  do  suit  you — 
An'  dem  vi'lets  wropt  inter  yer  hyar  ; 

Mars'  Ranny  loves  dem  sort  o'  blossoms — 
I  'spec',  Baby,  dat's  why  dey's  dar. 

Lord,  chile  !  you  looks  jes'  like  yer  mother, 
When  you  turn  yer  head  sideways,  dat  way  ; 

Has  you  been  showed  yerself  ter  Ole  Marster  ? 
You  has,  hey  ?    An'  what  did  he  say  ? 


64  BEFORE    THE  PARTY, 

"  He  never  said  nothin' — jes'  only 
His  mouf  twitch  like  ketchin'  a  cry  ; 

An'  he  kissed  you,  an'  turn  off  an*  lef  you, 
Wid  de  water  done  come  ter  his  eye  ? " 

Yes,  honey,  you's  like  her  ;  dat's  gospel ; 

An'  I  knows,  by  de  way  dat  he  done, 
Dat  you  fotch  her  up  ter  him  adzactly, 

An'  de  ole  times  dat's  over  an'  gone. 

She  used  ter  w'ar  vi'lets  dat  summer — 
He  loved  'em,  like  Mars'  Ranny  do — 

Her  fus'  season  at  de  White  Suff'rer, 
When  she  was  a  young  gal  like  you. 

I  went  wid  her  dar,  dat  'ar  season — 
Dey  called  her  de  Belle  o'  de  Springs ; 

De  young  bucks  run  crazy  about  her — 
You  never  did  see  sich  fool  things  ! 


BEFORE  THE  PARTY.  65 

But  Marster  was  dar,  de  bes'-lookin' 
An'  de  smartes',  I  hearn  'em  all  say  ; 

An'  he  owned  a  Jeems  River  plantation, 
An*  so  he  jes'  kerried  de  day. 

She  w'ared  a  white  dress  de  fus'  ebenin* 
She  danced  at  de  ball  ;  an'  she  hel* 

Some  vi'lets  like  dem  in  her  fingers — 
I  'members  it  all  very  well. 

I  hasn't  no  doubt  dat  Ole  Marster, 
When  he  seed  you,  he  thought  o'  dat  night , 

An',  mebbe,  some  other  times,  honey, 

When  he  'membered  her  'rayed  out  in  white. 

Now  I  thinks,  she  was  drest  de  same  fashion 

At  de  weddin'  at  Springfield,  you  know  ; 
Some  vi'lets  de  onlies'  color, 

An'  her  white  silk  mo'  shiny  dan  snow  ; 
5 


66  BEFORE   THE  PARTY. 

An',  Baby,  her  fingers  wropt  over 

Fresh  blossoms,  fotch  f'om  de  ole  place, 

Like  dem  ;  an*  white  garmen's  was  on  her, 
De  las'  time  I  looked  at  her  face. 


It  do  make  me  feel  sorter  ole-like, 

Fur  ter  see  you  growed  hansum  an  tall ; 

I  hardly  cornsidered  it,  honey, 
'Twel  you  fixed  up  ter  'ten'  yer  fus'  ball— 

'Ca'se  you's  never  seemed  nothin'  but  Baby, 
An'  it  looks  sich  a  short  time  ago  : 

Yes,  Mistis,  I'm  gwi'  come  an*  see  you, 
When  you  dances  wid  Mars'  Ranny,  sho'. 


AT  WHITEHALL. 

{Precinct  No.   32,  Albemarle  County  ;  November,   1878.) 

"  OLE  ? "     How  ole  does  you  have  ter  be  ? 
Warn't  dat  Reuben  I  jes'  now  see 

Walk  up  an'  put  his  paper  in  ? 
Don't  you  'spec'  Ise  as  ole  as  he  ? 
Marster,  you  mus1  be  makin'  fun  ! 
Ain't  got  ter  be  but  twenty-one  ? 

I'm  pas'  two-hund'ed,  as  sho'  as  sin ! 
Look  at  dat  Reuben  over  dar  ! 
Ain't  no  gray  in  his  kinky  hyar  ; 

Now  adzamine  dis  wool  o'  mine. 
My  back's  bent  wid  de  rheumatiz  ; 
Nothin*  de  martter  at  all  wid  his. 


68  AT   WHITEHALL. 

Marster,  sho'  as  de  sun  do  shine, 
Ole  Jim's  over  two-hund'ed,  sir. 
"  Prove  it  ? "     Well,  sir,  you  keep  de  sco'- 
Keep  it  fyar,  an'  I'll  prove  it,  sho' ! 

Ole  Jim's  over  two-hund'ed  year — 
My  ole  Marster,  I  buried  him — 
Sixty-nine  years  dat  counts  fur  Jim ; 
Mistis  was  forty  ;  young  Mars'  Joe 
He  was  nigh  about  thirty-fo* — 

I  tuk  'n'  buried  bofe  o'  dem  dar. 
How  many's  dat,  sir?    Well,  keep  'count- 
I'm  gwine  ter  give  you  de  'zact  amount 
My  ole  'oman  was  sixty-three — 
Gittin*  on  to'ds  it,  don't  you  see  ? 

Over  two-hund'ed,  fyar  an'  squar* — 
Two  o'  de  chillun  Ise  put  away — 
Over  two-hund'ed  now,  you  say  ? 
Jes'  you  adzamine  dat  ar  sco , 
Down  on  yer  paper  dar,  onst  mo' — 


AT  WHITEHALL.  69 

Over  two-hund'ed,  sho'  as  sin  ! 
Here  is  de  vote,  sir  !     Put  it  in. 
Twenty-one  years  !     Umph !  what's  dat  ? 
Hope  I  may  never  eat  possum-fat, 
Never  tetch  ash-cake-pone  no  mo', 
Ef  I  ain't  over  two-hund'ed,  sho' ! 


MARS'   RODNEY'S   HAT. 
0867.) 

TER  be  sho',  dar's  some  holes  in  it- 

What  o'  dat  ? 
Yes,  it's  greasy  ;  an'  de  ban's  gone 

F'om  de  hat. 
Sun  done  tuk  out  all  de  color ; 

An*  de  rain's 
Done  gone  kivered  it  wid  rusty 

Sort  o'  stains  : 
But  it  suits  me,  an'  I  likes  it. 

Caesar,  dar, 
He's  done  mounted  a  new  beaver 

Top  his  hyar. 


MARS'  RODNEY'S  HAT.  Jl 

Boy,  I  wudden  trade  my  kiver, 

Nary  pull, 
Not  for  twenty  like  dat  *ar  one 

On  your  wool. 
Dar's  a  story  'tached  ter  dis  'un, 

Mist  is  said, 
'Ca'se  it  onst  'longed  ter  a  soljer 

Dat  is  dead. 
"  Who  ? "     Mars'  Rodney,  in  de  war-time, 

Went  ter  fight 
Wid  dis  hat  on  ;  plumes  swung  f'om  it 

Black  as  night. 
He  were  shot  down  dar  by  Richmun' 

In  dis  hat : 
See  dis  split  here  by  de  rim  ?    It 

Kim  f'om  dat ! 

Long  years  back,  onst  I  was  comin* 
Down  dat  lane — 


MARS*   RODNEY'S  HAT. 

Heish  yer  cussed  jabberin',  nigger  ! — 

I  was  say'n' ? 

Yes,  a-trabellin'  f'otn  de  Quarters ; 

An'  he  stood 
By  de  big  oak  at  de  cornder 

O'  de  wood. 
Don't  you  'member  dat  young  lady 

Used  ter  come, 
Reg'lar  ev'ry  summer,  up  here 

F'om  her  home, 
Visitin'  o'  young  Miss  Nellie  ? 

Well,  dat  day 
She  were  wid  him.     As  I  pas',  I 

Hear  him  say : 
"  Yes,  I  love  you  ! "  but  I  missed  jes* 

What  she  said ; 
An'  when  I  looked  back,  dis  hat  were 

On  her  head ! 
Seems  ter  me  you  don't  see  ladies 


MARS1    RODNEY'S  HAT.  73 

Like  her  now ; 
An'  de  men  ain't  fine  as  he  was, 

I'll  allow. 
'Twas  de  purtiest  pictur'  ever 

Struck  my  sight : 
His  face  d rapped  ter  her'n,  turned  up'ards, 

Tetched  wid  light 


Young  Mars'  Rodney,  two  days  arter. 

Went  away. 
He  were  young,  de  war  mos'  over ; 

So,  dat  day, 
He  'peared  keerless-like,  an'  happy 

Fur  ter  go — 
But  he  never  kim  back  livin* 

Any  mo'. 
She  went,  too,  an'  never  is  been 

Here  sence  den. 


74  MARS'   RODNEY'S  HAT. 

I  had  tuk  a  notion  she  had 

Met  her  en', 
'Twel  ole  Mis'  sez  :  "  She  is  livin* 

Sum'ers  yet  ; 
But  I'm  'fear'd,"  sez  she,  "  her  brightes' 

Sun  have  set." 
So  I  jedge  she  ain't  so  happy, 

Jes'  by  dat, 
As  dat  mornin*  when  he  kissed  her 

'Neaf  dis  hat. 


ANANIAS. 

HE'S  a  two-forty  team,  sir,  on  tellin'  a  lie, 
An'  I'm  sartin  de  devil  'nil  get  him  bimeby ; 
I'll  jes'  mention  you  why : 

He's  done  been  out  here  on  dis  Chessypeake  Road, 
At  work  like  a  mule  fur  his  clo'es  an'  his  board — 
As  dey  tole  me,  dat  knowed  ; 

He  stayed  dar,  I  'spec's,  about  half  o'  a  year, 
An'  de  fus'  thing  I  know  he's  a-comin*  back  here— 
Purty  'zumptious,  yes,  sir ! 


/6  ANANIAS. 

"  How  come  so  ? "    Jes'  beca'se  dat  de  nigger  per 

ten's 
Dat  he's  trabelled  de  worl',  an'  done  been  ter  ita 

en's; 

But  I  has  got  some  sense, 


An'  I  ain't  gwine  ter  swallow  dat  tarbaby's  lies : 
He  needn'  be  flingin*  his  dus'  in  my  eyes — 
I  kin  see  when  I  tries! 


Ef  you  jes'  hear  his  racket,  f  om  what  he  have  tole, 
He's  done  made  some  twenty-odd  sacksful  o'  gole, 
An'  had  it  all  stole  ! 


An'  he  talks  'bout  Kenturky,  an'  what  he  have  seen ; 
How  de  hosses  is  one-twenty  whar  he  has  been, 
An  de  bluegrass  all  green. 


ANANIAS.  77 

Circus-ridin1,  he  says,  is  one  thing  he's  been  at ; 
An'  his  circus  has  Junybugs  big  as  my  hat. 
An'  what  gits  over  dat 

Is  his  ellyphant  yarns,  sir ;  an'  den,  ter  be  sho', 
He's  been  huntin'  o'  krokydiles  dar,  sir,  you  know, 
An*  killed  b'ars  by  de  sco*. 

I  'spec'  ef  his  Marster  could  come  back  an'  see 
How  dis  boy  have  turned  out,  he  would  p'int'ly  agree 
Wid  his  mammy  an*  me, 

Dat  de  name  he  hitched  ter  him  is  sartin  come  true. 
"  What's  dat  ? "     Ananias  :  an'  'twix'  me  an'  you, 
He  kin  outlie  dat  Jew ! 

Ise  knowed  dat  'ar  boy  sence  he  warn't  but  so  high, 
An'  he's  never  tole  nothin'  yet  'cep'  'twas  a  lie ! 
He's  gwi'  ketch  it  bimeby  ! 


78  ANANIAS. 

Sence  de  day  I  was  born,  I  could  never  stan'  liars 
De  wus'  thing  my  wife  an'  me  has  for  ter  try  us, 
Is  dis  here  Ananias. 


DEAD. 

OLE  Marster's  dead  ter-night — 
Tuk  sudden,  when  he  looked  as  peart  an'  strong, 
An'  brash  an'  hearty-like,  as  all  along 
He's  been  dese  fifteen  year  :     "  Done  dead  ! " 

Young  Doctor  Gahnett  said 

Ter  me,  yistiddy,  break  o'  light. 
Hard  fur  ter  know  we  never  is  gwi'  see 
Ole  Marster  'roun*  here  like  he  used  ter  be— 

Beca'se  he's  dead  ter-night. 

De  bes'  man  ever  lived,  he  were— 
I  never  is  been  hear 
Nothin'  but  good  o'  him  ; 


80  DEAD. 

An*  now  ter  think  dem  bright  blue  eyes  is  dim ! 

Done  gone  ter  bed, 
Ter  sleep  fur  good— dirt  pillows  'neaf  his  head— 

Beca'se  he's  dead. 


We  buried  our  dead  Marster  dar 

Ter-day, 
In  de  ole  church-yard  whar 

We  used  ter  play 

When  we  was  bar'foot  boys,  some  sixty  year  ago  ; 
An'  all  his  cullud  folks,  dat  loved  him  so — 
Beca'se  he  was  as  near 

An*  dear 

Ter  us  as  ter  his  own — 
Dey  tuk  'n'  come 
Ter  lay  ole  Marster  in  his  norrer  home ; 

An'  each  one  flung 
A  shovelful  in  on  him.     Den  a  groan 


DEAD.  8 1 

Went  up,  so  loud  de  preacher  cudden  pray. 

But  den, 

Standin'  aroun'  de  half-full  grave,  we  sung 
Dat  hymn  Ise  often  heerd  roll  off  his  tongue  : 
"  I  wudden  live  alway ! " 

Dat  was  de  en* — 

Amen  ! 


As  I  sets  here, 
A-watchin'  o'  dem  stars  up  dar  on  high 

In  dat  blue  sky, 

It  do  appear, 

Someway, 
Dat  he  is  furder  off  f'om  me  dan  dey  ; 

Tt  do  appear 

Like  it  was  hard  ter  know  he's  tuk  V  gone, 
Like  it  was  hard,  somehow,  ter  jes'  live  on — 

We  folks  dat's  worf 


82  DEAD. 

So  little — while  de  dug-up  earf 
Has  kivered  him  f'om  sight  : 
My  Marster,  my  ole  Marster,  dead  ter-night ! 

He  never  done  no  harm  ter  any  livin'  thing 

De  good  Lord  made  ; 
He  fed  de  po' — I  know  de  news  '11  bring 
Miz'ry  ter  many  a  one  dat's  prayed 
Often  an*  over  dat  his  years  nought  be 
Like  de  numerous  leaves  on  a  tree. 

But  it's  bes'— 
De  Lord,  He  knows  what's  right ; 

"  On  Jesus'  breas' 
He  gives  ter  his  beloved  sleep," 

De  good  Book  say  : 

An'  so,  someway, 
I  'spec*  ole  Marster's  happy  dar  ter-night. 


FESTINA   LENTE. 

I  WUSH  you  hadn'  gone  an*  did 

Jes'  what  I  tole  ye  not  ter ! 
De  Chris'mus  dinner's  tuk  V  slid 

Long  o'  yo'  foolin',  drot  yer  ! 
I  axed  you,  fus',  ter  be  mo*  slow  ; 

But  you  mus'  go  a-skeetin', 
An*  let  de  hyar  out  in  de  snow — 

Our  onlies'  Chris'mus  eatin*. 

You  needn'  stan'  up  dar  an'  grin, 
Jes'  like  'twar  sumpin'  funny ! 

Ef  dat  'ar  hyar  ain't  tuk  you  in, 
/are  mistaken,  honey. 


84  FESTINA    LENTE. 

Ise  'vised  you,  time  an*  time  ag'in, 
'Bout  rushin'  'roun1  an'  t'arin' ; 

De  way  you  does,  Joe,  are  a  sin 
Ter  set  a  preacher  sw'arin' ! 

Dar  ain't  no  sense  in  starin'  'roun' 

Ter  see  ef  he's  in  sight,  sir  ; 
He's  five  mile  off,  I'll  jes'  be  boun', 

An'  sarves  you  'zactly  right,  sir ! 
Not  for  ter  know  no  mo'  dan  dat 

'Bout  handlin'  o'  gum  triggers, 
An'  let  him  go,  slick  as  my  hat — 

It's  jes'  like  you  young  niggers. 

Now,  lemme  tell  you  onst  ag'in  : 
Don't  do  things  in  a  skurry ; 

Ixcess  o*  zeal  are  boun'  ter  win, 
But  not  ixcess  o'  hurry. 


FESTINA   LENTE.  85 

So,  Joe,  ef  ever  you  let's  go 

Another  Chris'mus  dinner, 
I'll  lay  a  hick'ry  on  you,  Joe, 

As  sho'  as  I'm  a  sinner  I 


JUCKS. 

YONDER  he  comes,  jes'  as  peart :  Dat's  de  way 
He  will  be  singin'  an'  whistlin'  all  day. 

Seems  like  he  don't  mind  dem  crutches  no  mo* 
Dan  nothin'  ;  an'  as  for  dat  eye,  ter  be  sho', 

He  says  he  would  ruther  have  two  eyes  dan  one, 
But  it's  done  been  knocked  out — an'  what's  done 
gone,  is  gone. 

"  How  do  he  manage  ter  live  ?  "    Well,  you  see, 
He  han'les  de  fiddle  jes'  like  ABC. 

An'  dance  !     Lord,  you  jes'  orter  see  what  a  huf 
Dat  'ar  lame  nigger  slings,  when  he  tries  sho'  enuf  ! 


JUCKS.  87 

'Cause,  bein'  as  how  he  are  crippled  an'  lame, 
White  folks  dey  doesn'  treat  Jucks  jes'  de  same 

As  dem  what  has  got  all  dey  lim's  safe  an'  soun'— 
Dem  niggers  what's  able  ter  ten'  ter  de  groun* ; 


Dey  sorter  feels  sorry  ter  see  him  dat  way, 

An'  dey's  always  a-givinf  him  quarters  ter  play.— 


He  got  busted  up  so  a-nussin'  a  mill 

Dat  Mars'  Thomas  run,  over  dar  on  de  hill. 

You  knows  Mars'  Tom's  two  little  gals  ?    Well,  one 

day — 
Dem  chillun  forever  would  git  in  Jucks'  way — 

Well,  dey  was  a-foolin*  aroun'  wid  de  'sheen — 
'Twas  one  o*  dese  here  big  steam  saw-mills  you's 
seen — 


83  JUCKS. 

An'  dey  got  ter  come  pullin'  an'  yerkin*  de  screws 
An'  de  thingumajigs  dat  a  steam  saw-mill  use. 

Jucks,  he  cudden  watch  'em  an'  do  his  work,  too, 
So  arter  a  while  dey  jes'  pulled  de  wrong  screw  ; 

As  soon  as  he  seed  'em,  Jucks  tuk  out  an'  run — 
But  he  knowed  'twas  too  late  for  ter  men*   what 
dey'd  done, 

So  he  grabbed  'em  an'  chunked  'em  out  in  de  saw- 

dus', 
Way  off  ter  one  side  :  an'  de  'sheen  tuk  'n'  bus' ! 

Dat's  how  come  he  walks  wid  dem  crutches,  an' 

why 
He  can't  see  on  one  side,  for  lack  o'  an  eye. 

"  He's  a  mighty  fine  fiddler,"  Mars'  Thomas  he  say  : 
"  An'  he  never  shall  want  while  I'm  livin',  no  way ! " 


ASHCAKE. 

WELL,  yes,  sir,  dat  am  a  comical  name — 

It  are  so,  for  a  fac' — 
But  I  knowed  one,  down  in  Ferginyer, 

Could  'a'  toted  dat  on  its  back. 

"  What  was  it  ?  "     I'm  gwine  to  tell  you— 

'Twas  mons'us  long  ago  : 
'Twas  "Ashcake,"  sah  ;  an'  all  on  us 

Use'  ter  call  'im  jes'  "  Ashcake,"  so. 

You  see,  sir,  my  ole  Marster,  he 

Was  a  pow'ful  wealfy  man, 
Wid  mo'  plantations  dan  hyahs  on  you  haid— 

Gre't  acres  o'  low-groun'  Ian', 


9*  ASHCAKE. 

Jeems  River  bottoms,  dat  used  ter  stall 

A  fo'-hoss  plough,  no  time  ; 
A.n'  he'd  knock  you  down  ef  you  jes'  had  dyared 

Ter  study  'bout  guano  'n'  lime. 

De  corn  used  ter  stan'  in  de  row  dat  thick 

You  jes'  could  follow  de  balk  ; 
\n'  rank  !  well,  I  'clar'  ter  de  king,  Ise  seed 

Five  'coons  up  a  single  stalk  ! 

He  owned  mo'  niggers  'n  arr'  a  man 

About  dyar,  black  an'  bright; 
He  owned  so  many,  b'fo'  de  Lord, 

He  didn'  know  all  by  sight ! 

Well,  sir,  one  evelin',  long  to'ds  dusk, 

I  seen  de  Marster  stan' 
An'  watch  a  yaller  boy  pass  de  gate 

Wid  a  ashcake  in  his  han'. 


ASHCAKE.  91 

He  never  had  no  mammy  at  all — 

Leastways,  she  was  dead  by  dat — 
An'  de  cook  an*  de  hands  about  on  de  place 
,         Used  ter  see  dat  de  boy  kep'  fat. 

Well,  he  trotted  along  down  de  parf  dat  night, 

An*  de  Marster  he  seen  him  go, 
An'  hollered,  "Say,  boy — say,  what's  yer  name  ?" 

"  A — ashcake,  sir,"  says  Joe. 

It  'peared  ter  tickle  de  Marster  much, 

An'  he  called  him  up  to  de  do'. 
"  Well,  dat  is  a  curisome  name,"  says  he  ; 

"  But  I  guess  it  suits  you,  sho'." 

"  Whose  son  are  you  ?  "  de  Marster  axed. 

"  Young  Jane's,"  says  Joe  ;  "  she's  daid." 
A  sperrit  cudden  'a'  growed  mo'  pale. 

An'  "  By  Gord  !  "  I  heerd  him  said 


92  ASHCAKE. 

He  tuk  de  child  'long  in  de  house, 

Jes'  'count  o'  dat  ar  whim  ; 
An',  dat-time-out,  you  never  see 

Sich  sto'  as  he  sot  by  him. 

An'  Ashcake  swung  his  cradle,  too, 

As  clean  as  ever  you  see  ; 
An'  stuck  as  close  ter  ole  Marster's  heel 

As  de  shader  sticks  to  de  tree. 

'Twel  one  dark  night,  when  de  river  was  out, 

De  Marster  an'  Ashcake  Joe 
Was  comin'  home  an'  de  skiff  upsot, 

An'  Marster  'd  'a'  drownded,  sho', 

Excusin'  dat  Ashcake  cotch'd  him  hard 

An*  gin  him  holt  o'  de  boat, 
An'  saved  him  so  ;  but  'twas  mo'n  a  week 

B'fo*  his  body  corned  afloat. 


ASHCAKE.  93 

An'  de  Marster  he  grieved  so  'bouten  dat  thing, 

It  warn'  long,  sah,  befo'  he  died  ; 
An'  he's  sleep,  way  down  in  Ferginyer, 

Not  fur  from  young  Ashcake's  side. 


ICHABOD. 

ALL  o'  de  glory's  done  departed — 

Tuk  'n'  gone  ! 
It  p'intedly  makes  me  right  down-hearted, 

She's  you're  born. 

All  on  it  comes  o*  dis  books  an*  schoolin' 

De  chilluns  git ; 
I  never  ain't  credit  no  sich  foolin/ 

An'  doesn't,  yit. 

What  say  ?     "  De  'fects  o'  de  eddication  ? " 

I  doesn'  know 
Nothin'  'bout  'fects  ;  but  dis  nigger  nation 

Issp'ilin',  sho'. 


ICHABOD.  95 

I  doesn'  anchor  my  ship  ter  1'arnin' 

What  makes  chaps  say 
Things  dat  'ud  never  be  thunk  by  niggers 

Dat's  done  got  gray. 

Dey  doesn'  believe  one  blessed  cushtion 

Outside  de  books  , 
Jes*  call  up  one  an'  'scuss  a  subjec', 

An'  mark  his  looks. 

Ax  ef  he  thinks  dat  de  salt  upsotted 

Is  sign  o*  grief  ? 
Not  one  o'  dese  eddicated  young  uns 

Has  sich  belief. 

Ax  ef  he  thinks  dose  dat  inherit 

Up  above 
Kin  ever  come  back,  ef  dey  wish,  ir  sperit 

Ter  dem  dey  love  ? 


1CHABOD. 

Ax  ef  he  thinks  dat  a  rusty  horseshoe 

Over  de  do' 
'Ull  keep  de  witch  f  om  ridin'  you  nightmar'  ? 

An'  he'll  say,  "  No  ! " 

Jes'  'quire,  will  you,  ef  de  books  tells  him 

'Bout  de  harnt-lights 
In  de  grave-yard,  down  by  de  bank  o'  de  river, 

We  sees  at  nights  ? 

An'  see  ef  de  little  nigger  doesn' 

Up  an'  say, 
"  De  ph'los'phy  'splains  dey's  jack-my-lanterns, 

Cl'ar  as  day!" 

Dunno  nothin'  'bout  'fects  ;  but  sartin, 

Sho's  you're  born, 
Dar's  too  much  books,  an'  too  little  grubbin* 

'Mongst  de  corn. 


ICHABOD.  97 

Yes,  sir  !  de  glory's  done  uptwisted 

Flat  o's  back ! 
De  new  words  don't  suit  de  ole-time  music, 

Dat's  a  fac'  i 


SIMEON,  F'OM  GEORGY. 

WE  had  hauled  in  de  corn  fom  de  corn-fiel' 
Two  weeks  'fo'  you  kirn  along  here, 

An'  shocked  it  up  dar  in  de  barn-yard — 
We  shocks  it  up  dar,  ev'vy  year  : 

An'  lars'  night, 
We  shucked  it  all  out,  purty  near. 

I  knowed  how  as  you  was  a  stranger, 

An'  thought,  perhaps,  whar  you  was  born, 

'Mongst  de  cotton  an'  cane  down  in  Georgy, 
Dat  you'd  never  seed  niggers  shuck  corn 

So  I  'spicioned, 
O*  case,  dat  you'd  want  ter  ha'  gone. 


SIMEON,  F'OM  GEORGY.  99 

An'  I  looked  fur  you  all  'roun'  de  place  here, 

Ter  try  fur  ter  git  you  ter  ten' ; 
But  you  wasn'  nowhar',  an*  I'm  sorry 

Dat  you  missed  de  corn-shuckin',  my  frien' : 
It  was  gran' ; 

Dar  was  music  an*  whiskey  'dout  en'. 

Marster  sets  out  de  liquor-pervisions, 
Ev'vy  corn-shuckin'  time,  in  de  fall — 

Only  jes'  'bout  enough  ter  be  jolly 
An'  not  ter  make  fools  on  us  all : 

An*  ole  Lem 
An*  his  fiddle,  dey  opens  de  ball. 

Lars'  night,  Lem  was  dar  wid  de  fiddle, 

An'  de  fiddle  it  got  up  an'  sung. 
I  never  knowed  Lem'el  so  lively, 

Nor  seed  sich  a  bow  as  he  swung, 
Sence  de  days 

When  me  an'  ole  Lem'el  was  young. 


100  SIMEON,  F'OM   GEORGY. 

An'  de  niggers  pitched  inter  de  corn-pile 
An',  I  tell  you,  de  shucks  fa'rly  flew ; 

De  pile  o'  shucked  corn  it  growed  bigger, 
An'  was  lovely  an'  yaller  an'  new  : 

An  sho'ly, 
I  sartinly  wished,  Sim,  for  you. 

For  de  jug  it  kep'  comin'  down  my  way— 
Lem'el's  Bill  was  a-passin'  it  'roun' — 

An'  de  niggers  was  singin*  like  forty, 
Seemin'  like  dey  was  tryin'  ter  drown 

Lem's  fiddle  ; 
But  Lem'el,  he  stuck  ter  his  groun'. 

'Twel  presen'ly,  here  comes  a  nigger— 

De  blackes'  dat  ever  I  see — 
An'  say  a  few  words  fus'  ter  Marster, 

Den  steps  up  an*  sets  side  o'  me : 
Well,  I  never 

Seed  a  tarbaby  shuck  corn  like  he ! 


SIMEON,  F^OM  GEORGY.  IOI 

He  didn'  talk  none  whilst  he  sot  dar, 
But  he  leant  hisself  over  dat  corn 

An'  he  handled  it  right  smartly  pearler 
Dan  Ise  seed  it  did  sence  I  was  born : 

'Twasn'  long 
'Fo'  de  mos'  o'  dat  corn-pile  was  gone. 

An'  Marster  he  kim  wid  de  whiskey, 
An'  hisself  po'ed  it  out  dar  for  him, 

An'  'couraged  him  smartly  ;  an'  Lem'el 
Stopped  fiddlin'  a  minnit,  an'  kim — 

What's  de  martter  ? 
Den  'twas  you  at  de  corn-shuckin',  Sim  ? 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 

HOLE  de  light  yar  !    De  dogs  done  treed  ! 

I  knowed  dey'd  almos'  co't  him, 
De  way  dey  barked.      What's  dat  you  seed  ? 
Out  on  which  lira'  ? 
Yes,  sir  ;  dat's  him — 
We  sartin  sho'  is  got  him  ! 

Shet  up  dat  howlin'  ?    Kick  him,  Joe  ! 

Dese  dogs  is  p'int'ly  eager  ; 
Wait  'twel  he  gits  down  here  below, 
Onter  de  groun', 
Den,  I'll  be  boun', 
He'll  whup  'em  like  a  nigger  ! 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  1 03 

Joseph,  my  son,  gimme  de  light, 

An'  you  kin  do  de  cuttin'  ; 
J  wudden  git  dat  'coon  ter-night, 
Take  holt  de  axe  ; 
Six  or  eight  cracks 
'Ull  fix  de  critter's  mutton  ! 

Jes'  look-a-dar  !     I  nuver  see 

'Coon's  eyes  so  much  like  fire. 
De  way  he's  starin'  down  at  me — 
Hole  on  dar,  Joe, 
He's  'bout  ter  go  ! 
No — he  jes'  crep'  up  higher. 

Here,  Caesar — Nero— sick  him  !  sick ! 

Stan'  back  !  de  tree's  a-fallin' ! 
Now  let  de  dogs  git  in  dar,  quick ! 
Ugh!    Shoo  dar!    Scat! 
Ole  Toby's  cat ! 
Jes'  lissen  at  dat  squallin' ! 


f04  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

I  never  see  de  beat  o'  dat 
In  all  my  time  o'  seein* ! 
Folks  what  can't  'stinguish  'coon  f  om  cat 
Better  be  sleep 
In  bed,  a  heap, 
Dan  up  o'  nights  'coon-treein'. 


"TO  YOU." 

DAR  !  thankee,  Marster.     Dat's  enough. 

Don't  git  de  ole  man  tight ! 
Lord  !  see  de  sunshine  comin'  through ! 

Ain't  it  a  purty  sight  ? 
Dis  here  is  what  de  Cohees  calls 

De  ray-el  Mount'in  Jew — 
It  looks  almos'  as  ole  as  me  : 

My  Marster,  here's  ter  you  ! 

Ah-h  !  dat  'ar  licker  fetches  back 

De  mem'bry  o'  de  days 
When  peach  an'  honey  was  de  drink 

About  yer  father's  place. 


JO6  «  TO    YOU." 

De  sideboard  shined  jes'  like  de  moon, 
De  punch-bowl  like  de  sun  : 

An'  Marster  an'  de  gentle-mens 
Dey  stepped  up,  one  by  one. 

11  Here's  Apple  Jack,"  ole  Marster  says, 

"  Some  sebenteen  year  ole  ; 
An'  dat  peach-brandy  are,  I  think, 

About  as  good  as  gole  ; 
In  dat  recanter  over  dar 

Is  native  Mount'in  Jew." 
Den  turns  his  back  ;  an'  all  fills  up  ; 

Den  :  "  My  regards  ter  you  !  " 

De  guggle  at  dat  'canter-mouf — 
Lord,  sakes  !     Seems  like  I  hears 

De  glasses  ring,  de  spoons  ker-ling, 
Dis  side  G'  all  dese  years  ! 


"TO    YOU."  107 

Ah  !  'fo'-de-war  is  gone  away, 

Jes'  like  yistiddy's  sun  : 
An'  Marster  an'  dem  gentle-mens 

Has  stepped  off,  one  by  one. 


No,  not  no  more,  I  thankee,  sir ! 

Dat  fur,  I'm  F.  F.  V.— 
Jes'  one  drink  at  a  time,  dem  days, 

Was  'nuf  for  quality. 
Dey  say  dat  age  is  mons'ous  fine 

Upon  de  Mount'in  Jew  ; 
Twill  keep  an  hour  or  so,  I  'specs'  : 

Wid  my  regards  ter  you. 


SWEET  HOME. 

MANY  long  years  I  has  spent  here  ; 
Now,  dey  says,  I  mus'  be  leavin'. 
Well,  I  can't  he'p  grievin', 

Jes'  beca'se 

Love  an'  sorrow  dey  bofe  bine  me 
Ter  dis  spot  I  leaves  behine  me, 
An*  de  happy  days  dat  went  here 
At  dis  ole  home  place. 

In  my  age  I  is  departing 
When  my  han*  have  los'  its  cunnin', 
Wid  de  ebenin*  sun  in 
My  dim  face. 


SWEET  HOME. 

Over  dar,  beyant  dem  beeches, 
Whar  de  long-slant  shadder  reaches, 
Is  de  spot  I  leaves  my  heart  in 
At  de  ole  home  place. 

My  Marster  an'  my  Mistis, 
My  chillun  an'  my  wife,  sir — 
Lights  o'  my  pas'  life,  sir — 

Dey  all  lays 

Dar  beneaf  dat  groun*  ;  me  only 
Lef  behine,  po',  ole,  an'  lonely. 
/  mus'  leave  now,  while  de  rest  is 
At  dere  ole  home  place. 

Oh,  it  hurts  me,  dis  forsakin' 
O'  de  place  whar  I  was  born  in, 
Whar  fus'  de  light  o'  mornin* 
Tetched  my  face. 


HO  SWEET  HOME. 

I  had  hoped  an'  prayed  'dout  ceasin* 
Dat  I'd  fine  my  en'  in  peace  in 
Dis  here  house.     My  heart  is  breakin' 
Fur  de  ole  home  place. 

Lord  o'  Mussy,  in  Dy  pity, 
When  Death's  shadders  dey  come  o'  me, 
An'  de  valley  lays  afo*  me 

In  a  maze, 

Let  it  be  dat  I  shell  straightway 
Enter  through  de  pearly  gateway 
O'  de  sain's*  eternal  city 

Pom  dis  ole  home  place. 


LITTLE  JACK. 

YES,  sah.     'Twas  jes'  'bout  sundown 
Dad  went — two  months  ago  ; 

I  always  used  ter  run  down 
Dat  time,  bec'us',  you  know, 

I  wudden  like  ter  had  him  die, 
An'  no  one  nigh. 

You  see,  we  cudden  git  him 
Ter  come  'way  off  dat  Ian' — 

Said  New  House  didn'  fit  him, 
No  mo'  dan  new  shoes  ;  an' 

Gord  mout  miss  him  at  Jedgmen'  day, 
Ef  he  moved  'way. 


LITTLE  JACK. 

"  How  ole  ? "     Ef  we  all  wondered 
How  ole  he  was,  he'd  frown 

An'  say  he  was  "  a  hunderd — 
Ole  Miss  done  sot  it  down, 

An'  she  could  tell — 'twas  fo'  or  five — 
Ef  she  was  live." 

Well,  when,  as  I  was  sayin', 
Dat  night  I  come  on  down, 

I  see  he  bench  was  layin' 
Flat-sided  on  de  groun' ; 

An'  I  kinder  hurried  to'ds  de  do' — 
Quick-like,  you  know. 

Inside  I  seen  him  layin' 

Back,  quiet,  on  de  bed  ; 
An'  I  mecked  out  he  was  sayin' : 

"  Dat's  what  ole  Marster  said  ; 
An'  Marster,  cert'n'y,  he  warn't  wrong 
We'll  meet  'fo'  long." 


LITTLE  JACK.  113 

I  axed  how  he  was  gettin'. 

"  Nigh  ter  de  furrow's  een'," 
He  said  ;  "  dis  ebenin',  settin' 

Outside  de  do',  I  seen 
De  thirteen  curlews  come  in  line, 
An'  k  no  wed  de  sign. 

"  You  know,  ole  Marster  tole  me 

He'd  come  for  me  'fo'  long  ; 
'Fo'  you  was  born,  he  sole  me — 

But  den  he  pined  so  strong 
He  come  right  arter  Little  Jack, 
An*  buyed  him  back. 

"  I  went  back  ter  de  kerrige 

An'  tuk  dem  reins  ag'in. 
I  druv  him  ter  his  marriage  ; 

An',  chile,  it  was  a  sin 
Ter  see  de  high  an*  mighty  way 
I  looked  dat  day. 


114  LITTLE  JACK. 

"  Dat  coat  had  nary  button 

'Ceptin'  it  was  ob  gole  ; 
My  hat — but  dat  warn't  nuttin' ! 

'Twas  noble  ter  behole 
De  way  dem  bosses  pawed  de  yar, 
Wid  me  up  dyar. 

"  But  all's  w'ared  out  befo'  me  ! — 

Marster,  an'  coat,  an'  all ; 
Me  only  lef — you  know  me  ! — 

Cheat  wheat's  de  lars'  ter  fall  : 
De  rank  grain  ben's  wid  its  own  weight, 
De  light  Stan's  straight. 

"  But  heah  !     Ole  Marster's  waitin' — 

So  I  mus'  tell  you  :  raise 
De  jice  dyar  ;  'neaf  de  platin', 

De  sweat  o*  many  days 
Is  in  dat  stockin' — toil  an'  pain 
In  sun  an'  rain. 


LITTLE  JACK. 

"  I  worked  ter  save  dem  figgers 

Ter  buy  you  ;  but  de  Lord 
He  sot  free  all  de  niggers, 

Same  as  white-folks,  'fo'  Gord  ! 
Free  as  de  crows  !     Free  as  de  stars  ! 
Free  as  ole  hyars  ! 

"  Now,  chile,  you  teck  dat  money, 
Git  on  young  Marster's  track, 

An'  pay  it  ter  him,  honey  ; 
An'  tell  him  Little  Jack 

Worked  forty  year,  dis  Chris'mus  come, 
Ter  save  dat  sum  ; 

"  An'  dat  'twas  for  ole  Marster, 
Ter  buy  your  time  f'om  him  ; 

But  dat  de  war  come  farster, 
An'  squandered  stock  an'  lim' — 

Say  you  kin  work  an*  don't  need  none, 
An*  he  carn't,  son. 


Il6  LITTLE  JACK. 

"  He  ain'  been  use  ter  diggin' 

His  livin'  out  de  dirt ; 
He  carn't  drink  out  a  piggin, 

Like  you  ;  an'  it  'ud  hurt 
Ole  Marster*s  pride,  an'  make  him  sw'ar, 
In  glory  dar  !  " 

Den  all  his  strength  seemed  fallin*  ; 

He  shet  his  eyes  awhile, 
An*  den  said  :  "  Heish  !  he's  callin' ! 

Dyar  he  !     Now  watch  him  smile ! 
Yes,  suh — you  niggers  jes*  stan*  back  ! 
Marster,  here's  Jack  ! " 


MARSE   PHIL. 

YES,  yes,  you  is   Marse  Phil's  son  ;  you   favor  *m 

might'ly,  too. 

We  wuz  like  brothers,  we  wuz,  me  an'  him. 
You  tried  to  foold'  ole  nigger,  but,  Marster,  'twouldn* 

do  ; 
Not  do — yo'  is  done  growed  so  tall  an'  slim. 

Hi !  Lord  !  Ise  knowed  yo',  honey,  sence  long  befo' 

yo'  born — 

I  mean,  Ise  knowed  de  family  dat  long  ; 
An'  dee's  been  white  folks,  Marster — dee  han's  white 

ez  young  corn — 
An',  ef  dee  want  to,  couldn'  do  no  wrong. 


Il8  MARSE  PHIL. 

You'  gran'pa  bought  my  mammy  at  Gen'l  Nelson's 

sale, 

An'  Deely  she  come  out  de  same  estate  ; 
An'  blood  is  jes'  like  pra'r  is— hit  tain'  gwine  nuver 

fail; 
Hit's  sutney  gwine  to  come  out,  soon  or  late. 

When  I  wuz  born,  yo' gran'pa gi'  me  to  young  Marse 

Phil, 

To  be  his  body-servant — like,  you  know  ; 
An'  we  growed  up   together  like   two  stalks  in  a 

hill— 
Bofe  tarslin'  an'  den  shootin'  in  de  row. 

Marse  Phil  wuz  born  in  harves',  an'  I  dat  Christmas 

come  ; 

My  mammy  nussed  bofe  on  we  de  same  time  ; 
No  matter  what  one  got,  suh,  de  oder  gwine  git 

some — 
We  wuz  two  fibe-cent  pieces  in  one  dime. 


MARSE  PHIL.  119 

We  cotch  ole  hyahs  together,  an'  possums,  him  an' 

me ; 

We  fished  dat  mill-pon'  over,  night  an'  day  ; 
Rid  horses  to  de  water  ;  treed  coons  up  de  same 

tree  ; 
An'  when  you  see  one,  turr  warn'  fur  away. 

When  Marse  Phil  went  to  College,  'twuz  "  Sam- 
Sam's  got  to  go." 

Ole  Marster  said,  "  Dat  boy's  a  fool  'bout  Sam." 
Ole  Mistis  jes*  said,  "  Dear,  Phil  wants  him,  an',  you 

know " 

Dat  "Dear" — hit  used  to  soothe  him  like  a  lamb. 

So  we  all  went  to  College — 'way  down  to  Williams- 
burg— 

But  'twarn'  much  1'arnin'  out  o*  books  we  got ; 
Dem  urrs  warn'  no  mo"  to  him  'n  a  ole  wormy  lug  ; 

Yes,  suh,  we  wuz  de  ve'y  top  de  pot. 


120  MARSE  PHIL. 

An'  ef  he  didn*  study  dem  Latins  an*  sich  things, 

He  wuz  de  popularetis  all  de  while 
De    ladies    use'    to    call    him,   De    angel    widout 
wings  j 

An*  when  he  come,  I  lay  dee  use*  to  smile. 

Yb'  see,  he  wuz  ole  Marster's  only  chile  ;  an'  den, 

He  had  a  body-servant — at  he  will ; 
An'  wid  dat  big  plantation,  dee'd   all  like  to  be 
brides  ; 

Dat  is  ef  dee  could  have  de  groom,  Marse  PhiL 

Twuz    dyah  he  met  young    Mistis — she  wuz   yo' 

ma,  of  co'se ! 

I  disremembers  now  what  mont'  it  wuz, 
One  night,  he  comes,  an'  seys  he,  "  Sam,  I  needs  new 

clo'es  ; " 

An'     seys    I,    "Marse    Phil,    yes,    suh,    so    yo' 
does." 


MARSE  PHJL.  121 

Well,  suh,  he  made  de  tailor  meek  ev'y  thing  bran' 

new ; 

He  wouldn'  w'ar  one  stitch  he  had  on  han' — 
Jes'  throwed  'em  in  de  chip-box,  an'  seys,  "  Sam, 

dem's  fur  you." 
Marse  Phil,  I  tell  yo',  wuz  a  gentleman. 

So  Marse  Phil  co'tes  de  Mistis,  an'  Sam  he  co'tes 

de  maid — 

We  always  sot  our  traps  upon  one  parf  ; 
An'  when  we  tole  ole  Marster  we  bofe  wuz  gwine, 

he  seyd, 
"  All  right,  we'll  have  to  kill  de  fatted  calf." 

An'  dat  wuz  what  dee  did,  suh — de  Prodigal  wuz 

home  ; 

Dee  put  de  ring  an'  robe  upon  yo'  ma. 
Den  you  wuz  born,  young  Marster,  an'  den  de  storm 

hit  come  ; 
An'  den  de  darkness  settled  from  afar. 


122  MARSE  PHIL. 

De   storm  hit  corned  an'  wrenchted   de  branches 

from  de  tree — 

De  war — you'  pa — he's  sleep  dyah  on  de  hill ; 
An'  do  I  know,  young  Marster,  de  war  hit  sot  us 

free? 
I  seys,  "  Dat's  so  ;  but  tell  me  whar's  Marse  Phil  ?" 

"  A  dollar  ! " — thankee,  Marster,  you  sutney  is  his 

son ; 

You  is  his  spitt  an'  image,  I  declar' ! 
What  sey,  young  Marster  ?    Yes,  suh,  you  sey,  "  It's 

five— not  one  " — 
Yo'  favors,  honey,  bofe  yo*  pa  an'  ma  ! 


"HOME   AGAIN.1 


DE  place  is  changed  sence  de  ole  tim< 

Dis  place  whar  I  was  born. 
An'  played,  an'  growed,  an'  lived,  an'  worked 

Amongst  de  yaller  corn  ; 
De  cabin-flo'  is  t'ared  up  now, 

De  chimbley's  tumblin'  down, 
An'  I  doesn't  see  de  palin'-fence 

About  de  patch  o'  groun'. 

But  de  sunshine  'pears  ter  be  as  bright, 

An'  de  birds  as  full  o'  song, 
An'  de  bees  as  busy  at  dey  work 

In  de  clover  all  day  long. 


124  "HOME  AGAIN." 

So,  spite  o'  de  cabin's  tumblin'  down. 

An*  de  ragged  worrum  fence, 
De  ole-time  scenes  comes  back  ag'in— 

Ise  missed  'em  ev'ry  sence. 


I  kin  see  my  wife  dar  by  de  do', 

Wid  de  baby  on  her  knee  ; 
An'  de  tother  chillun  playin'  here, 

Whar  de  peach-tree  used  ter  be. 
But  she  is  sleepin'  on  de  hill, 

Wid  her  baby  on  her  breas'  ; 
An'  de  tother  chillun's  out  dar,  too, 

All  peacefully  at  res'. 

De  little  branch  runs  on  de  same 

As  how  it  used  ter  run  ; 
Ise  crossed  it  often  to'des  de  night, 

When  arter  my  work  was  done  ; 


"HOME  AGAIN."  12$ 

De  Great  House  still  is  standin'  dar, 

Jes'  over  de  tother  side  ; 
But  I  hasn'  been  dar  sence  de  day 

My  blessed  Mistis  died 


Ise  wandered  over  de  State,  at  large, 

A-doin'  what  I  could  ; 
Work  in'  de  railroad,  now  an'  den, 

An'  sometimes  cuttin*  wood. 
It  had  been  some  years  sence  I  was  here ; 

So,  passin'  by  to-day, 
I  felt  as  how  I  mus'  see  de  place, 

An'  so  kim  by  dis  way. 

I'm  sorry  I  kim :  de  ole  glad  days 

Comes  back  so  fresh  ter  me, 
Dat  it  cuts  my  heart  ter  see  de  place 

Ain't  what  it  used  ter  be. 


126  "HOME  AGAIN." 

I'll  never  hear  as  onst  I  heerd, 
In  de  happy  times  long  gone, 

De  darkeys  singin*  like  dey  sung, 
Amongst  de  yaller  corn. 


I'm  goin'  now.     I  ain't  gwi*  see 

De  ole  home  place  no  mo' ; 
But  I  'spec'  I  never  shell  forgit 

My  wife  dar  by  de  do', 
Wid  de  little  baby  on  her  knee, 

An'  de  chillun  here  at  play  ; 
I'll  'member  de  ole  place  like  it  was, 

When  I  am  fur  away. 


ONE  MOURNER. 

(For  Irwin  Russell,  who  died  in  New  Orleans  in  great  destiti* 
tion,  on  Christmas  Eve,  1879.) 

WELL,  well,  I  declar' !    I  is  sorry. 

He's  'ceasted,  yo'  say,  Marse  Joe  ? — 
Dat  gent'man  down  in  New  Orleans, 

Whar  writ  'bout  'n  niggers  so, 

An'  tole,  in  all  dat  poetry 

You  read  some  time  lars'  year, 
'Bout  niggers,  an'  'coons,  an'  'possums, 

An'  ole  times,  an'  mules  an'  gear  ? 


128  ONE  MOURNER. 

Jes'  name  dat  ag'in,  seh,  please,  seh  ; 

Destricutioris  de  word  yo'  said  ? 
Dat  signifies  he  wuz  mons'us  po\ 

Yo'  say — want  meat  an'  bread  ? 

Hit  mout :  I  never  knowed  him 
Or  hearn  on  him,  'sep'  when  you 

Read  me  dem  valentines  o'  his'n ; 
But  I  lay  you,  dis,  seh's,  true — 

Dat  he  wuz  a  rael  gent'man, 
Bright  fire  dat  burns,  not  smokes  ; 

An'  ef  he  did  die  destricute, 
He  warn't  no  po'-white-folks. 

Dat  gent'man  knowed  'bout  niggers. 

Heah  me !  when  niggers  wuz 
Ez  good  ez  white-folks  mos',  seh, 

I  knows  dat  thing,  I  does. 


ONE  MOURNER.  1 29 

An*  he  could  'a'  tetched  his  hat,  seh, 

To  me  jes*  de  same  ez  you  ; 
An*  folks  gwine  to  see  what  a  gent'man 

He  wuz,  an*  I  wuz,  too. 

He  couldn'  'a'  talked  so  natchal 

'Bout  niggers  in  sorrow  an'  joy, 
Widdouten  he  had  a  black  mammy 

To  sing  to  him  'long  ez  a  boy. 

An'  I  think,  when  he  tole  'bout  black-folks 

An'  ole-times,  an*  all  so  sweet, 
Some  nigh  him  mout  'a*  acted  de  ravins 

An'  gin  him  a  mouf-ful  to  eat, 

An'  not  let  him  starve  at  Christmas, 
When  things  ain't  sca'ce  nowhar — 

Ef  he  hed  been  a  dog,  young  Marster, 
I'd  'a  feeded  him  den,  I  'clar ' ! 


130  ONE  MOURNER. 

But  wait !    Maybe  Gord,  when  thinkin' 
How  po'  he'd  been  himself, 

Cotch  sight  dat  gent'man  scufflin', 
An'  'lowed  fur  to  see  what  wealf 

Hit  mout  be  de  bes'  to  gin  him, 
Ez  a  Christmas  gif,  yo'  know ; 

So  he  jes'  took  him  up  to  heaven, 
Whar  he  earn*  be  po'  no  mo*. 

An*  jes'  call  his  name  ag'in,  seh. 

How  ? — IRWIN  RUSSELL— so  ? 
I'se  gwine  fur  to  tell  it  to  Nancy, 

So  ef  I'd  furgit,  she'd  know. 

An'  I  hopes  dey  lay  him  to  sleep,  seh, 
Somewhar,  whar  de  birds  will  sing 

About  him  de  live-long  day,  seh, 
An'  de  flowers  will  bloom  in  Spring. 


ONE  MOURNER.  131 

An'  I  wish,  young  Marster,  you'd  meek  out 

To  write  down  to  whar  you  said, 
An'  sey,  dyar's  a  nigger  in  Richmond 

Whar's  sorry  Marse  Irwin's  dead. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


REC'D  LD-UKL 

mi*         SIT  2  7  1988 

WARI 

DATE  o          FEB  2  3  199F 
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^ 
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orm  L9 

THE 
UNIVERSITY 


3   1158  00129 3561 


